


Call Me

by Maygra



Category: Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: ATF, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-12-03
Updated: 2002-12-03
Packaged: 2017-10-09 10:35:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maygra/pseuds/Maygra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A late night phone call changes things in the light of day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cee (Traveller)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Cee+%28Traveller%29).



# Call Me

  
**by Maygra**   
_(for Cee)_

 

The Battle Hymn of the Republic. It took Chris a few moments to identify it. Longer to recognize that the tinny tune was being orchestrated by his cell phone. By the time he got that far, it stopped ringing. He went back to sleep with vague thoughts of dire revenge on Buck Wilmington.

Recognition came faster the second time around and he fumbled for it, found it, and pulled it to his ear. He was more awake than he wanted to be. "Larabee."

"Chris..." More followed: apologies for waking him, which Chris barely heard as he wrapped his brain around the accent while he opened one eye to stare at his clock and make sure that he was actually seeing the three and another three and a seven on the display.... And then caught the tail end: "...so I need a ride."

Chris supposed there was a really good explanation in there somewhere. "Where the hell are you?"

"Williams and 39th..." Which was the fucking northeast side of the city and in the middle of nowhere, and not a particularly nice part of nowhere.

"Christ, Vin," Chris muttered, rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling of his bedroom. "It'll take me forty minutes to get there. You couldn't call Buck or Josiah or...are you drunk?"

"Not as much as I was," Vin said, sounding pretty cheerful about it but his words were slurred. Seriously drunk, then, because somewhere between normal and only slightly intoxicated Vin Tanner usually lost most of his accent as he concentrated on being understood. Past that point and he became almost unintelligible, that drawl of his became so thick. From the sound of him, he was well past that point and into full mush-mouth. "Shoulda. Ain't got my keys though...but... yer right. I can get in. Need to walk this off anyway," he said. "Sorry. Go'on back to sleep."

He was gone: hanging up before Chris could say anything more and he let out a sigh. Walk. From 39th to his apartment all the way across town. It would take Vin more than an hour, sober and running.

Didn't have his keys and Chris had his spare. The bartender must have taken them but then why not call Vin a cab if that were the case? Why didn't Vin call a cab? At least Vin had sense enough not to try to hotwire his jeep. Sighing again he called back, hearing two rings before it rolled over to voice mail. He tried again, wondering if Vin were too drunk to answer the phone fast enough to catch it by the second ring. By the third try he was more anxious than annoyed.

Walk. Christ. The sudden image of Vin trying to break into his own apartment by climbing up the rickety fire escape when he was too drunk to answer the phone had Chris shoving the covers back. He could beat him there and at this time of the morning...he might make it in twenty or thirty minutes if he ran with lights. Totally against regs but he could stretch it. Agent in danger...mostly from his own stupidity.

Vin was going to be next in line after Buck for a Larabee tongue lashing.

It was closer to thirty minutes and he didn't run with lights although his hand hovered near the switch every time he saw an approaching car. Fifteen minutes out of town the first spatters of rain hit and Chris swore, praying it would be brief.

It wasn't. By the time he hit Martin Luther King it was steady and cold. It would make finding Vin more difficult, in the shadows and alleys, and he could only pray that the man would take the most direct route home: Blake to 20th to….the street names flashed by in blurred prisms of light and after another fifteen minutes he was ready to drive to Purgatorio and start working his way back, or just wait for Vin to show. The latter was actually his best bet and he made his way along Blake. Chances were, Vin would cut by Coors Field to 20th and then across the river. He caught glimpse of someone waiting for the light to change where 23rd changed to Fox. He slowed, letting the man cross in front of him and saw the back of his jacket.

The Odessa Jackalopes only had two fans, and only one of them was in Denver. Chris had to wait for the light to change and pulled an entirely illegal U-turn to pull up beside the curb and slow the truck.

Vin staggered back a step and stared as Chris rolled down the window. "Get in, you jackass," Chris was more relieved than angry.

"I'm wet."

He was soaked, and now that he'd stopped walking, a lot less steady than Chris liked. He must be plastered. Reaching behind him, Chris fished for a towel and came up with one that wasn't exactly clean but it was dry. "Meet me on the corner," he said, pointing where a storefront offered some shelter from the rain. Vin nodded and moved off again, still stumbling and Chris tried to mentally inventory what he had behind the seat in case riding in the truck managed to make Vin puke.

He pulled up onto the curb and parked, leaving the hazard lights on as Vin came closer and took the towel. Chris followed him out, getting damp but it was no more than that as he spread a camp blanket over the passenger seat. Beneath the overhang, Vin was wiping at face and hair.

"I tried to call you back," Chris said, finally ducking under the overhang to join him. Vin looked purely miserable, hunched down in his jacket, sodden jeans clinging to his legs, water straining from his hair to his leather jacket.

"Left m'phone at home..." he was slurring his words, but this close up Chris could see it wasn't drink -- or at least not mostly -- there was a mottled bruise along Vin's jaw, and a still bleeding cut above his eye. Alerted to that much damage, Chris took a closer look, turning Vin to get better light.

"Jesus, Vin," he said it softly and Vin pulled back, caught between anger and embarrassment. Both his jacket and his shirt were torn at the collar, the shirt ripped at the side when Chris looked, showing bare skin when Vin moved since the cotton was adhering to his skin like wet newspaper. Livid scratches and scrapes lay along Vin's throat and more bruises along his neck and collarbone. His jeans were ripped up, even more so than usual. The left pocket was torn enough for Chris to see flesh beneath. His hands were marked up too: knuckles scraped and bleeding.

Had Vin told him he'd been in a fight while Chris was mentally reaming him out for waking him at such an ungodly hour?

"Looks worse," Vin said, sounding more sober than not, but tired.

"God, I hope so. You sure -- St. Anthony's is only a couple of minutes away."

Vin shrugged. "'m fine." He moved past Chris to the truck and spread the towel on top of the blanket before easing in. Chris followed, not liking how stiffly Vin was moving, but he'd walked this far, so he wasn't likely to collapse. Vin fumbled with his seat belt and got it latched, letting his head fall back against the rest and closing his eyes. He smelled of wet leather and sweat, beer and booze too, although most of the alcohol seemed to have been washed away -- both inside and out. Chris buckled up as well and then offered Vin his handkerchief.

"Put that on your eye. It's still bleeding." Vin took it with barely audible thanks. Chris eased the truck back onto the street and turned it around.

The release of tension in Chris' neck and shoulders clued him in to how worried he'd been; how worried he still was. He wanted better light to make sure Vin was really okay -- well, he wasn't, and while Vin was no slouch in the hand-to-hand department, even drunk, for someone -- or several someones -- to have done this much damage didn't bode well.

The rain was coming down harder when they reached Vin's apartment and even parking in front, they had fifty feet of downpour to make it through. Chris found himself catching Vin around the waist when he stumbled. He might not to be totally drunk but he wasn't totally sober either -- or he was hurt worse than he said.

Inside was cooler from the lobby vents but dry and Vin took a moment to get his breath before heading for the stairs. Chris glanced longingly at the elevator but it was slow as Christmas and Vin couldn't stand the small space. It was a night for resigned sighs, and he followed the little puddles Vin was leaving behind.

When Chris caught up, he found Vin leaning against the wall next to his door. He was breathing a little quickly and shallowly and looking paler under the fluorescent lights in the hallway. Paler where he wasn't bruised. His eye was bleeding again -- Chris wondering if it needed stitches as he unlocked the door and reached for the lights.

"I'll get you something dry to put on," Vin mumbled, shrugging out of his coat and leaving it on the ladder-back chair by the door. He moved past Chris like he couldn't get away fast enough.

Chris stood there for a moment, fighting confusion and fatigue and concern before shaking his head and stripping off his sweatshirt. The T-shirt below was mostly dry, but his jeans were only a step under sodden. He toed off his boots, leaving them by the door, then stripped off his jeans just as Vin returned with a pair of sweats and dry shirt.

"Jesus, Vin, get out of those things. You're a lot wetter than I am," Chris scolded and got another odd look between anger and something else.

Dressed and feeling warmer, Chris hunted up coffee and mugs, then dug out the battered but serviceable first aid kit from under Vin's sink. Chances were Vin would crash and Chris had no intention of driving back home. Vin's couch wasn't the most comfortable in the world but he'd slept there before.

"I'll take the couch," Vin said, coming back in dryer clothes and carrying extra blankets and sheets to set them on the arm of the sofa. He was wearing ATF sweats like those he'd given to Chris and a long-sleeved Henley. He looked both tired and battered but he was a lot more alert than he had any right to be. He got a glass of water and Chris got his first really good look at him.

"You wanna tell me?" Chris asked, pulling out peroxide and Band-Aids. Vin looked at the kit then at Chris and let out a soft breath before turning to put his back to the kitchen counter.

"Was stupid..."

"What were you doing way over there?"

Vin cut him a glare and Chris shut up, but he didn't stop cleaning the cut over Vin's eye. "Running an errand up at the Stockyards. Just went in for a drink...got to talking to the bartender. Nice feller. Mick. He's heard of the Jackalopes," Vin added archly and Chris had to grin at him. "Fellow hockey fan. We's talking and this guy comes in, with his buds, ponies up to the bar..." he hesitated then and Chris paused before applying the butterfly bandage to the cut. There was flush to Vin's cheeks. "Caught me looking."

There wasn't anything Chris could say to make it better. "Didn't like it, huh?" He'd seen Vin look at men and never thought it particularly threatening or even obvious. But it was to some; even without cause, and Chris would bet his ranch that it hadn't been anything more than a look.

"Guess not. Tried to..." Vin hissed as Chris pressed the edges of the wound together to get the bandage in place, but didn't move. "Went back to talking to Mick. Dickhead started in again -- names, bullshit, you know," Vin said at Chris' glance. "Then he started in on the 'lopes..."

"How many drinks did you have?" Chris asked leaning back and crossing his arms.

"A few. Maybe a few too many. I...uh...called him 'sugar'."

Chris rolled his eyes. Vin was not so obvious, usually, about being queer: for the job, for the 'comfort' of his friends who were mostly straight, for his own protection and because...well, he was a kick-ass, no-prisoners-taken, Texas cowboy. That 'sugar' had about as much sweetness to it as rattler venom and it was guaranteed to set some assholes off, but it took a lot of poking to provoke it.

"Called me a faggot and I showed him a little gay pride."

"You really aren't that smart, you know?" Chris chided gently. The coffee gurgled behind them and he reached for the pot. "Take it he's not so good looking anymore?" Chris asked, seeing the bruised knuckles as he handed Vin a mug, sugar and milk already inside.

"Not so much, no," Vin admitted, a little bright laughter in his eyes. "Woulda been okay but his friends took exception to me wiping the floor with his ass instead of fucking it," he said, the bitterness underneath it masking a deeper hurt and some anger.

Chris winced at the crudity, his mouth set. Vin didn't flaunt his preferences, but he didn't back down from the calling of them either -- even when he might be smarter to do so. He wouldn't show how much it bothered him -- except with his fists -- but it did. "Mick broke it up, tossed them out and made sure they left, then me. Wasn't too happy with me...have to go back, though, and get my keys. Settle up."

"Probably not the best part of town to be looking," Chris said and knew immediately it was the wrong thing to say.

"Yeah. My kind should stay where they belong." The anger was real, the shock of it -- to hear it from Chris, even if that wasn't what Chris meant. "Thanks for coming to look for me," he said and set his cup in the sink, heading for the bathroom.

"Fuck." Chris rubbed his eyes. Too tired, way too tired to have this conversation, but he had to set it right if Vin would let him. If he was sober enough, but Chris was pretty sure he wasn't that drunk any longer. He set his cup aside and followed Vin, pushing the bathroom door open as he heard the shower start. "Vin, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that-- " he stopped, apology lost in a rush of shock first, then anger.

Vin's shirt was off, revealing the real extent of the damage done: bruises, small and round and spread like hand prints on his upper arms, a darkening area over his left chest and lower back. Scratches and more bruises disappeared under the waist band of Vin's sweats. Chris didn't even have to be in law enforcement to understand the patterning and bruising. They'd held him and beaten the shit out of him -- or tried to. Chris wondered if it was Vin's training or Mick or both that had kept it from being any worse.

There was still anger in Vin's eyes, but the flush rode high on his cheeks again, chin lifted as if daring Chris to say anything, meeting Chris' anger with his own. It eased off as Chris' did, Vin looking uncertain first then closing his eyes briefly before turning away. "Unless you plan on showering with me, best get on," Vin said. "Take the bed. I'm likely to be up and down for a bit." He didn't look at Chris again, didn't hesitate any longer at pushing the sweats down and leaving them on the toilet. Chris got no more than a glimpse of bruises lower down before Vin stepped into the shower stall and pulled the curtain. Quietly, almost reluctantly, Chris withdrew, closing the door. His coffee was cool and he warmed it up, settling on the sofa with the mug between his hands.

It wasn't as if he'd never seen Vin banged up before, or naked for that matter. It wasn't the first fight Vin had gotten into because he was queer either -- not from a few things he'd said. Primary reason for him leaving the army, despite a promising career. Enough to get him some cold shoulders with the US Marshals.

The bureau didn't want to know about anyone's sex life, thank you very much, and they weren't likely to railroad him out -- hadn't, even though Chris knew, as did *his* boss, and even the division commander. Tanner did his job and he did it exceedingly well. Results mattered.

Chris wished he'd been there, although knowing his own temper, it would have been a good thing not to be armed. He should know better than anyone how easily violence could come with little provocation. Even close to home.

Especially close to home.

Vin was gone no more than ten minutes and came out looking calmer but almost remote. He got more water and hunted around for some analgesics in the kitchen, taking a cupped palm full. "If you're not using the bed-- "

"Could you pick 'em out? Identify them?" Chris asked quietly.

"Probably. Ain't worth it though."

"So they can whale on somebody else who looks at them wrong?" Chris hissed out.

"They might think twice," Vin said coldly. He had kicked ass, then...despite his appearance. Chris held his gaze, and after a moment Vin blew out a breath and broke the stalemate. "Yeah. I could. Mick would probably help."

Chris nodded, claiming no victory. "You should wrap those ribs. Get an x-ray."

"Bruised, cracked maybe...not broke. Had broken ones enough to know."

Chris only stared him down again and Vin shook his head, but fished an ace wrap out of the kit and came around to the sofa. He was moving a little better after his shower, the last traces of sweat and blood, rain and booze, gone from his skin, his hair. He peeled off his shirt again and Chris helped him pull it over his head, shifting to crouch on the floor so Vin could rest his hands on the back and arm of the sofa while Chris worked the ace bandage around his mid chest. "Leave it off. I want to get some cream on those scratches," Chris warned when he was done and Vin reached for his shirt.

Chris sat on the sofa for it, using a gauze pad to coat the scratches and bandage the deepest parts with gauze and tape. First those on Vin's throat, pushing the damp hair back to make sure he got the edges covered, then along his chest to work it under the bandage, just below Vin's left nipple. The last, and probably the most minor, was lower along the crest of his hip. Vin caught his wrist. "I can do it," he said quietly and took the tube. He wouldn't look at Chris as he shifted and eased the edge of the sweats over his hip rubbing the gel along the scrapes there.

Chris watched him, vaguely aware of the blush staining the sharp cheeks, far more aware of the full press of Vin's roused dick against the loose jersey material. Even seeing it, it took Chris a moment to connect result to cause.

Too drunk and too tired and the angle of the cuts were too awkward for Vin to actually do a good job of it. And he was embarrassed as Vin rarely was.

"Just shift over," Chris said taking the tube of ointment back and because he had a theory he wanted to test out. Vin resisted for a second but gave up under a glare from Chris, twisting his upper body slightly to rest folded arms on the back of the couch and Chris pushed the sweats down a little more exposing a good portion of Vin's ass. His hands were steady as he spread the ointment and then pressed a gauze pad against the leading edge, just above the crest of Vin's hip, where it was bruising as well because of the proximity to his hip bone. "So, before you and your boyfriend broke up, he was good looking?" Chris asked, smiling a little when Vin's head whipped around only to realize Chris was teasing him.

Relaxing again, Vin smiled a little. "Passable."

Chris finished, easing the sweats back up over Vin's hip but didn't pull back much, letting his hand rest there, on Vin's hip. Vin's eyes narrowed, glancing at Chris suspiciously. "Don't think it's bleeding enough to need pressure, Larabee."

"I didn't mean you shouldn't go where you want, but Jesus, Vin, I wouldn't go there without a SWAT team," Chris said, thinking it should be obvious. Vin glared at him for a moment longer then shook his head, the glare fading and he looked nothing more than tired.

"Weenie," Vin said, forgiveness in the light jab. "Didn't go looking...or looking for trouble. Wasn't like I made a pass at him."

"Doubting his own masculinity," Chris said arching an eyebrow and Vin gave him a look for using such a tired cliché, then chuckled.

"Yeah. Guess he showed me what a man he was."

"Trying to impress you with his virility." Chris grinned, watching the tension ease away. His apology had been accepted and Vin took a deep breath, testing his ribs.

"Fought like a girl."

"Watch it, Tanner. Ladies at the office hear that and they'll kick your ass for being a sexist."

Mild panic at that, but mostly feigned. Women didn't make Tanner run, only left him tongue-tied, which they thought was adorable. If Vin ever decided to play for the other side, he'd be beating them off.

Not likely though. He wasn't a sexist, but women did nothing for him that Chris had ever seen. They all fell into the categories reserved for mothers and sisters. Not fair really -- since most of the guys at the office tended to talk about wives and girlfriends with at least as much enthusiasm as they talked sports, or guns -- the testosterone overload was a little much even for Chris to take at times. Maybe because he wasn't playing in that field any more than Vin was.

"You should take the bed," Chris said, before Vin could fall asleep just like this, stretched over the sofa.

"Naw. Bathroom's closer here. Beers are gonna be making their good-byes at some point."

Chris nodded and ran his hand up Vin's side, along his back, before reaching for the sheets.

"I got it," Vin said, moving finally, getting to his feet.

"Faster with two." Chris didn't argue with him, only spread the halved sheet, tucking it around the sofa cushions.

"Mother," Vin muttered and Chris smiled again as he spread the blanket. "Gonna tuck me in?"

"I might. Need anything?"

Vin shook his head, laying down, hunting for a comfortable spot and then settled and Chris did tuck him in -- or close to it. "Thanks," Vin murmured, eyes meeting Chris' when Chris crouched.

For more than the pick up. It was almost embarrassing, but not quite. Chris had done more for people he liked less. He let his hand rub along Vin's arm for a moment before getting up, strangely reluctant to leave him. Vin was doing his best not to look at him again, without being rude.

Chris didn't understand it, or at least not all of it. But he wanted to, suddenly. Maybe. "What did he look like?" Unfair. Vin might not be totally drunk but he wasn't up to par either. Chris turned the light off by the sofa, leaving the room illuminated marginally with the bleed from outside, the small light over the stove and a crack of brightness from the bathroom. It was uneven lighting at best, casting odd shadows.

There was silence: heavy, weighted silence and Chris almost moved away.

"'bout six foot, blonde...kind of on the skinny side," Vin's voice was low, soft.

"Temper."

"You could say," Vin answered wryly.

Chris moved back, the shadows not really enough to make him trip over coffee table or the first aid kit. He sat on the sofa, catching the light reflected in Vin's eyes, colorless now, but still wide, still open. Hip to hip and Chris knew he wasn't breathing deeply enough, and that his heart was pounding a little harder. His hand came out to rest on Vin's upper thigh.

"I wasn't lookin'. I never was," Vin said and he wasn't talking about the blond in the bar.

"I believe you." Not so surprisingly, he did. Chris wasn't so dense he'd have missed it -- hadn't missed that Vin thought he was attractive. But Vin thought Christian Slater was attractive and it meant no more than that or hadn't until now.

"You're fucking with my head, here, Larabee," Vin warned, half-accusing as Chris' hand slid along his leg to his hip. Blankets, half-light, sweats: none of it could hide the effect his presence was having on Vin's body, or Vin's on Chris, for that matter.

Chris leaned in. "Not quite what I was thinking, but it's a start." He knew his smile had gone a little more wolfish. He wasn't playing fair and knew it. Vin was hurt and emotionally raw and Chris knew without thinking that it had taken this to let him see it, to even pose the question. They were close enough for Chris to feel Vin's breath fan over his face, feel the heat radiating off him, smell the arousal -- if arousal had any smell other than the light tang of sweat and toothpaste and shampoo.

"Chris-- " Too harsh and Vin was tense beneath him but not pushing him away. Trusting Chris too much to take it wrong, and caring too much not to worry a little.

"Shut up, Tanner," Chris murmured mildly and followed breath to lips, lips to open mouth. Vin had a lot of control but he wasn't Superman to resist what he wanted -- even if he never went looking for it, exactly. A swallow and Chris was all the way in, feeling Vin's tongue immediately challenge his own in a fast, hard game of seek and capture. Damp hair twined around his fingers, his hand wrapping in the strands as Vin lifted his head and Chris provided support.

Fleeting thoughts that this was a bad idea on one level and so very right on another chased through Chris' mind. They got crowded out by Vin's taste, the moist heat of his mouth, the hard press of the lean body to his chest, and the strength in the hand that snaked around the back of his neck and pulled him down.

Whatever doubts Vin might have had also disappeared. At the feel of Chris' hard cock pressed against his hip, he twisted, angled and it was Chris' turn to hiss and gasp, feeling a similar a hardness rub against him, even through four layers of cloth. Four too many and he reached between them to pull the covers back, then to hook his fingers into the elastic waist band.

"Fuck," Vin snarled, arching up as Chris' knuckles dragged over his swollen length.

"We'll get there. Easy, easy," Chris murmured nuzzling Vin's throat instead, opposite the bruising.

Tanner's fingers pulled at his shirt and Chris rocked back, pulling it off and since it was easier, skimming off the sweats as well. He snickered in pure masculine pride at Vin's soft, "Damn," before sitting again, to get a better grip on Vin's sweat pants, pulling them off his hips and legs with a little more care.

Damn was right. Not so surprising or even unfamiliar. The dim light managed to obscure most of the bruising, leaving Vin's skin a kind of ghostly blue and silver, contours and muscles well defined.

"Jacket pocket," Vin said, panting a little, fingers tracing the length of his cock, his other hand inching up Chris' thigh.

Pocket...jacket, oh. His backed away reluctantly but found Vin's coat and checked the pocket. Three packages and he brought them all. "Not looking, huh?"

"Just being prepared," Vin said on a kind of smug, choked laugh. He'd gotten to his knees, pushed the blankets and sheet up over the back of the sofa. There was KY in the first aid kit, and it ended up in Chris' hand as well as Vin knelt, chest to the back of the sofa. For once Chris found himself appreciating the soft, lumpy depth of Vin's couch. Enough room for both of them to kneel, the back giving Vin some support for the bruising on his ribs.

Vin seemed really sure of what he wanted. Chris found himself hesitating for a moment before opening the package and slipping the condom on. He wanted to get a little more drunk on Vin's taste and went for it, pressing him to the sofa-back, but snaking an arm around him to get another kiss, wet and sloppy and yeah, pretty heady stuff. His other hand soothed and smoothed and wiped the gel along the crack of Vin's ass before pressing a little deeper and almost lost his tonsils when Vin surged against him, hungry and demanding. He pressed Chris' hand down, curling his fingers around his cock and stroking with him.

Chris' dick wasn't too happy with being left out of the game, already slick and hard, finding friction against Vin's ass and hip. Chris nuzzled Vin's neck instead, needing air, and still too aware that Vin was bruised and a little drunk yet. He'd be sore enough tomorrow without Chris adding to it.

"Chris-- " Not much more than a moan, a hiss...demanding and begging. The latter something Chris wasn't sure he'd ever heard before.

"Easy...easy, Vin," Chris soothed, easing his stroke and working his fingers wider. Vin was no virgin, but Chris was no shrinking violet either. He shifted a little, laying one hand beside Vin's on the back of the sofa and guided himself in, pressing enough to feel the resistance, groaning softly with Vin until he slid inside, pushed, and let his other hand brace him, brace both of them.

Vin was panting low and soft, not moving at first although his ass clenched, then released and he pressed back, the pressure building between them. Chris found Vin's throat again, lifting the damp, dark hair away and half-encircling his upper chest and shoulders with one arm before pulling back.

God...so sweet, tight and hot. It had been too many years since this -- years that Vin didn't know about, probably wouldn't credit -- but he wasn't complaining. Instead he was rocking, hand working his cock in slow strokes as he gave Chris more resistance.

"C'mon, c'mon," Vin murmured, low and deep, as he pressed back again, working Chris to give it to him faster and harder. Chris held him tighter and moved, trying to keep Vin from working too hard, leaning his weight against him. He changed the angle of his hips and he heard a mumbled little sound and a sharp gasp of pleasure as he hit the right spot.

Closing his eyes, Chris drove for it again and again, barely aware of the sounds Vin was making or his own in response. Tension and desire coiled in his belly, in his groin, tight and hot. There was sweat between them making the slide of his nipples against Vin's back that much easier, that much more stimulating. He pulled at Vin's left thigh, opening his stance slightly wider, covering his hand and Vin swore, body shuddering, as they both pistoned his cock faster as it got slicker.

Another grunt and gasp from Vin and his body tightened, clenching hard around Chris, come covering their hands, the sheet, Vin's belly. Vin grabbed for the arm that held him, the scent of him strong and fresh, and Chris caught his hand, sucking the taste away before he pulled him tighter still, moving his mouth from fingers to Vin's throat again, to suck on skin and the hard bone at his throat. He thrust hard and fast until he felt the pressure explode out of him: the tight coil of tension and sensation burst apart and rocked through Chris like a shot. He had to lock his arm against the back of the sofa to keep from letting all his weight spread over Vin's back. His legs were trembling and his back slightly achy, but all the rest of him felt sated and spent and warm and quivering.

Vin still held him tight, but Chris gripped the base of his cock and pulled free, sending another shudder and aftershock through both of them. He dropped the spent condom onto the towel. Vin was leaning against the back of the couch, arms folded and head to the side, nothing but relaxation in his body, in the soft curve of his back. Shifting to the side, Chris turned him, let his hand spread the still wet semen on Vin's belly, leaving it shiny and slick with the mix of sweat and come.

"I did say thanks for the ride, didn't I?" Vin asked, sleepy, his drawl softer.

Chris chuckled and got a foot on the floor. "Yeah, you did. Come on. Think this bed's gonna be a little wet for sleeping." Even in the dim light he could see the stains on the sheet. Vin seemed reluctant or just tired but he managed, sitting before standing. Chris caught him around the waist once more when he took a sharper breath that had little to do with pleasure. Snagging the pillow from the sofa, Chris guided him to the bedroom.

Vin was practically asleep before his head hit the pillow, stretched out like a cat in the sunshine. He'd probably do better with another shower, but Chris had no intention of carrying him there and that would be about what it would take. He did grab a wet washcloth and even the antibiotic cream. The bandage on Vin's hip hadn't survived the therapy. He got a half-mumbled protest from Vin and a weak batting of his hands but all in all, it was a token resistance. He grabbed a quick shower for himself, if only because he needed time to himself: to make sure he wasn't going to change his mind in a few hours. The idea of looking at Vin and saying the equivalent of "Thanks for the fuck but no..." sat uneasily. He could be an asshole but not about this, not with Vin. Any lingering doubt he might have had to be settled before Vin was sober or awake enough to see it.

Habit made Chris check the door locks and turn off the coffee pot. He left the bathroom light on though before crawling in beside Vin -- in what little bit of the bed Vin left him. It was a queen-sized mattress and Chris gave fleeting speculation about what Vin would look like sprawled across Chris's big king.

Like he belonged there. Which he did. Tired as he was, physically, Chris' brain wasn't quite ready to let go. It seemed kind of foolish to think that for all the other ways Vin fit into his life -- on the job or off -- that this hadn't been more obvious, sooner.

He hadn't wanted it to be. Pure and simple. He didn't spend much time beating himself up about it. He hadn't been wrong not to notice, it just hadn't been time.

Although, what it was about Vin Tanner getting drunk and into a fight made it the right time, Chris couldn't begin to guess. He vaguely thought he should have resisted more, surprised that it hadn't really crossed his mind.

Rolling to his side, he watched Vin through heavy-lidded eyes, thinking there should be some profundity in all this. Nothing immediately came to mind except that there wasn't any place he'd rather be.

* * *

Chris stirred beside him when Vin moved, cracking one hazel eye at him from where he lay on his stomach. Vin met the half gaze, saw the corner of Chris' mouth turn up and found himself grinning in return before sliding less than gracefully off the bed.

Should be some kind of physical law that said a pleasant ache in ass and belly should cancel out aching pains from bruised ribs and muscles.

The apartment was warm. Not quite hot enough for Vin to be willing to watch his power bill jump at the use of the window unit. Brighter too: the clock edging toward seven, his bladder past being full.

It took a second look at the trashed out sofa to let the full impact of a few hours ago to settle.

He hadn't been looking. A glance in the mirror reminded him he wasn't much to look at either, at the moment. The Ace wrap had come loose and he pulled it off, gingerly pressing fingers to the bruising there. Maybe, mostly not broken. He'd live.

The bruises on his arms made him shy away from some less optimistic thoughts. Only one of them Chris'...he'd been amazingly, surprisingly gentle. He did have the start of a pretty nice little hickey on his neck, though.

"Get a grip, Tanner," he muttered darkly to himself, but the goofy grin wouldn't quite be banished entirely. He managed a wipe-down, not wanting to crank up the shower: the water pipes were noisy and God knew, aside from everything else, Chris deserved to sleep in, if only for having driven thirty miles to haul Vin's ass out of the rain.

He'd been fucked by Chris. By his best friend. By his boss. Wiping his face, he wondered if he might ought to get into fights more often.

Chris had kicked off most of the blankets, the edge of the sheet still twisted around his legs, arms tucked up and around the pillow. His forearms were darker, neck and face lightly tanned, and beyond was even-toned, paler skin. Burned like most blondes he said, whereas Vin tanned from the Cherokee heritage his grandfather had spoken of but could never quite pinpoint. Chris' complexion was even and smooth, with a dusting of darker blonde hair on his arms, spattered lightly across his chest.

Vin had never really just looked. He hadn't lied. He'd spent far more time trying not to look, but he'd never failed to notice. The man had some seriously broad shoulders and the smallest, tightest ass Vin had ever seen, knowing his own wasn't much for spreading across a chair seat.

Tapered. That was the word. Ezra'd be proud. Tapered and honed, knife sharp. Had Chris more bulk on him he'd look like a college wrestler. Not skinny either -- slim. No wasted flesh, no lost muscle. Hard and smooth and curved and just damn near perfect. The hollow of his groin had cupped Vin's ass just right, just like he liked it, fitting together like puzzle pieces.

No fumbling or hesitation either, something that had been a tad surprising, although maybe not as much as it could have been. Buck did like to talk, liked remembering younger, wilder days. Liked teasing Chris about his wilder days although he never let too much slip, and certainly not this. Pushed up to the edge of it -- just to watch Chris simmer a little.

Lying back down was actually harder than sitting up, but he settled, on his side, startled when Chris lifted his head. "How're you feeling?" he asked, quiet, feeling his way as Vin was.

"Sore. Stupid," Vin admitted. "Not sorry, though," he added and got another slow grin from Chris.

"Good," he said and closed his eyes. "We can go later and get your jeep." He shifted some, rolling to his side as well, and reached across the six inches or so and Vin met his hand halfway, lacing their fingers together. It was Chris who moved though, close enough for Vin to feel the heat of his body, see the individual bristles of the shadow of beard along his jaw.

He'd be a lousy agent if he couldn't see the obvious, and he got rewarded for a job well done: Chris' kisses managing to be lazy and intense at the same time. Vin's body was giving out mixed signals again though -- definite interest punctuated by tiny, sharp, little twinges and aches that only motivated him to more distraction rather than less.

He found a ticklish spot beneath Chris' left ear and went after it, snickering at the half-hearted attempts Chris made to stop him, until he ducked his head. Vin nibbled at the back of his neck instead, which produced some interesting sounds. Chris tried to pull him back down and around, but Vin wanted to do a little exploring as he hadn't before, taking stock of the shoulders and back that had so fascinated him earlier. A nip to Chris' shoulder produced a shiver, and Vin moved lower, sliding his hands along the muscles of Chris' upper back that got another little shrug and a release of tension. Stronger pressure and Chris groaned softly, rolling his shoulders forward.

Vin moved over, straddling Chris' legs and rubbed. It was part massage and part just touching.

"Don't strain," Chris warned, seriously, when Vin dug the heels of his hands into Chris' lower back and up along his spine, watching the sinuous shudder travel downward. Chris' skin was warm and just as smooth and soft as it looked: pale, golden skin sheathing solid muscle and even the edges of bone as Vin's hands rippled over his ribs.

"More strain tying my shoes," Vin reassured him, leaning over to set another light kiss on the knobby vertebrae, tasting salt and he licked at it, feeling a different kind of tension rise up in Chris' body as he folded his arms under his head again. "Like that?" he whispered into Chris' ear and licked at his neck: a long, slow stroke that ending in soft sucking.

"Yeah." A husky admission and Vin smiled, tracing his thumb along Chris' spine and pressing at mid-back, just a little, before licking at the mark he'd made. A long tracing of his tongue around and between three vertebrae at lower back made Chris' hips move restlessly and Vin chuckled softly, moving lower.

Chris was utterly still, taking deep, slow breaths -- anticipating, waiting. Vin nibbled at the base of his spine and Chris buried his face in the pillow.

Sliding down a bit more, Vin's hand massaged the firm rounds of Chris' ass, pulling at the skin to smooth it, draw it taut and lick along the shallow valley leading lower. It was like he'd put an electric current under Chris' skin. His muscles tightened and rolled, bringing his head up, Vin just barely able to see Chris' face, to see white teeth digging into his lower lip.

Salty skin was stripped of flavor under Vin's tongue, Chris' breathing growing progressively more shallow and faster and he was up on the flats of his elbows now, head down, holding his lower body still -- or trying to.

Vin traced a finger over Chris' tightly drawn in anus, wetting his finger and rubbing the pucker softly before bending his head once more, stretching his body out to partially lie down. Chris spread his legs to make room and groaned softly when Vin spread his ass cheeks, holding the tension there before tracing over the darker, wrinkled skin with the tip of his tongue.

"Jesus!" Chris hissed, half growl and half prayer, soft and bitten back like he was trying to keep something in.

Vin soothed his upper thighs for a moment, feeling the tension in the hard muscles there, the heat of them against his chest and arms. He rubbed until Chris relaxed again, then turned his attention back to Chris' ass, holding the compact muscles of his buttocks apart firmly, taking long sweeps with his tongue, and leaving a trail of slick wetness on Chris' flesh. He blew softly, watching Chris shift his hips again, cock filling and balls tightening. Quick flickers of his tongue against the puckered flesh brought another huff of air and a groan. Sucking softly made Chris push back and moan.

Vin felt like a puppet master, pulling strings, commanding responses, until Chris was shuddering under the assault. Pressing firmly down on his hips, Vin pressed inward, taking in the salty taste, a hint of soap yet, and something a little muskier flavored. Every muscle in Chris tightened and he pulled in on himself when Vin's tongue pushed past the fluttering resistance, lapped and left him slick. He snaked his tongue in again, the puckered opening giving way even as Chris' body tensed up further, fingers clenching into the pillow and his hips rocking forward and back, trying to draw Vin's tongue deeper inside of him. A stuttered gasp and moan escaped Chris -- a sound Vin had not heard before, but wanted to again -- as his tongue stabbed deeper and held, Vin sucking as well and then blowing across the sensitive flesh once more. More saliva and he rubbed it deep with a fingertip, nipping at the taut skin just above Chris' hole, licking and sucking and probing until he found Chris' prostate and rubbed as he nipped the skin.

Chris jerked upward, on hands and knees, reaching for his cock, and Vin pushed him over, spreading his legs and batting his hands away. His fingers -- two this time -- jabbed smoothly into Chris' ass, mouth covering the swollen, leaking cock in just that instant before Chris arched back and came hard. His hands floundered for a moment before gripping at the bed and blankets, hips surging upward and Vin had to back off a little or choke, watching with barely checked hunger as the thick ropes of come escaped.

He was hard himself, but it didn't stop him from capturing the last few dribbles, licking and sucking them off Chris' dick while his fingers rubbed across the still-twitching hole. Gradually Chris relaxed and Vin did as well, minding his side as he lay his head on Chris' belly and listened to his pounding heart slow.

Chris' hand came down eventually, stroking through Vin's hair, then tangling his fingers in it, tugging a little. The hazel eyes were more jade at the moment than brown. "Share," Chris said, and pulled as Vin slid upward on the bed, Chris making a cradle and nest of the pillow and his arms. His tongue went hunting: Vin let him suck and explore and otherwise pretty much claim Vin's mouth like staked out territory.

What lethargy Chris felt seemed to leave him pretty quickly, Vin barely able to keep up with the movement of mouth and hands. There wasn't any shyness in Chris at all, hands roving over Vin's chest and side and curving around his hip and ass like he had every right to touch anything he wanted.

And like a man who'd learned something new, but needed practice, Chris' tongue went exploring too. Vin's nipples were licked and sucked, until they peaked up like they were trying to rival his cock in length. When Chris bit lightly, the shudder and moan that ran through Vin was embarrassingly long; his limbs seeming to have lost all strength as his mind desperately tried to focus on that sensation and a nothing else. His bruises were kissed and stroked, Chris catching Vin's left hand and bending it behind him, holding him captive and still, while he feasted like a starving man, until Vin was dizzy and unable to control the spasms racing through him from head to toe. Another bite and Vin bucked, hissing when his ribs pulled and he curled back. Chris let go of his hand, rubbing softly over his side. "Sorry...shhh," he murmured and offered more support, putting an arm under and around Vin's shoulders so he wouldn't twist.

That bit of proprietary boldness set Vin's heart pounding a little faster as if the blood driving through his veins to points south weren't enough. He squeezed his eyes shut and sucked air when Chris slid his hand between his legs to lift Vin's leg over the top of his own, giving him better access. It didn't hurt, but it surely did bring an ache up.

"Can't wait to see what you're like when you're not so bruised up," Chris said, softly, voice caressing despite the words, lips pressed to Vin's closed eyelids.

"Keep it up and you may kill me 'afore you find out," Vin hissed softly, feeling his spine tighten at the all too knowing hand that toyed with him, played his dick like Jimmy Page on a Fender.

"Working up to it," Chris said, nothing but pure wickedness in his eyes, but he was still careful, easing Vin onto his back, stroking and petting and kissing. Tasting Vin like there was something particularly exotic on his skin, at the base of his throat, in the soft flesh at the join of shoulder and chest. His right hand cradled Vin's head, stroking through his tangled hair, while the fingers of his other hand carded through the tighter curls at Vin's groin.

Vin did his best to encourage, arching up into those caresses and kisses as far as his bruised ribs would let him. It felt like every hard muscle Chris owned was pressed up against him: supporting and steadying him at the same time they were demanding responses. He'd seen Chris passionate: enraged, single-minded, so focused on one thing he'd forget to eat and sleep was something needed by lesser men. And he knew Chris fervently loved his wife and son -- so much so that when they were killed, all that was left was rage, like their deaths had sucked every other emotion from him. He hadn't seen it, but even Buck was sometimes haunted by it, and it still lingered in the shadows of Chris' eyes when he let Vin see it, which wasn't often.

He'd never really thought about what it would be like to have all that passion focused on him. Never really expected or even hoped for it. But here it was, and even bruised and sore, he wanted to give it back, offer up more than he ever had before, to anyone, any time.

He wasn't quite sure how to go about it -- quick, hard fucks were his most common repertoire, not this slow-building madness of sensation. It was a relief when Chris finally took hold of his dick and stroked, jacking him off in steady, firm pulls that left Vin panting for air. If he could have asked for it, or Chris could have managed it, he'd ask to be fucked once more, hard and deep and able to see Chris' face.

Given his choices, getting to see the latter was pretty stunning stuff. Chris was getting off on watching him, on coaxing him to the finish line. Smug and certain and oh, so satisfied. "That's it, Vin. Give it up for me. Want to see it...what you'll look like when I fuck you again."

That did it right there: Vin's insides seized up at seeing and hearing Chris Larabee say he wanted to fuck him, that he planned to. Or close enough. His fingers dug into the muscles of Chris' upper arm as he came, whatever sound he might have made was lost under the press of Chris' mouth over his, his tongue diving deep, exactly as if he were fucking him.

Hand and mouth eased off at the same time, gentling, Chris' mouth brushing across his cheek and jaw and then up to his forehead, lips and nose nuzzling into his hair. Vin was only barely aware when the blankets were pulled up.

* * *

There wasn't any way to move without disturbing Vin and Chris gave up trying to figure a way after a few minutes. Vin might just go back to sleep, although he was already sleeping later than Chris knew was normal, from the combination of booze and injuries and sex.

Good sex. Really good sex. Chris grinned at that and let one hand push the loose hair off Vin's forehead before sliding his arm out from under him. Asleep, Vin moved no more than he did standing watch.

He got half his wish. Vin did wake, blinked, snuffled a bit and wiped his face. "Time?"

"Nearly ten," Chris said. "I'll be back."

Vin blinked again but the second time his eyes stayed shut and he pulled the pillow into his chest, body relaxing once more.

After a spit wash and starting coffee, Chris dug around until he found the borrowed sweats he'd worn so briefly the night before. His jeans were still damp and he didn't feel up to hauling his clothes or Vin's to the basement to run them through the washer. He bundled them up. He probably wouldn't have too much problem convincing Vin to come out to the ranch for the rest of the weekend and they could do laundry there.

After rinsing out the pot and making fresh coffee, he hunted through the scant supplies in the cabinets and refrigerator. There were English muffins, some sandwich ham, enough to tide a hungry man over. The toasting bread or nature calling had Vin up again, blearily making his way to the bathroom. He had his sweats on too when he emerged, looking sleepy still and moving gingerly. "There's frozen eggs and stuff in the freezer," he offered, pouring coffee and opening the bottle of ibuprofen up again.

"Thought we'd stop," Chris said, drinking his own coffee and leaning against the counter. The bruises had come up pretty spectacularly in vivid purples and blues and greens, something Chris had noticed but not really paid much mind to. There wasn't much they could do about them.

It made him angry though, as he hadn't been before, really. A lower simmer. Able to identify them or not, he doubted seriously Vin would press charges -- even if he had a better chance than a snowball in hell of winning. Which he didn't. Being a Federal Agent would count for something, being queer would cancel most of that out if it came to it. Denver and even Colorado might be pretty tolerant, but tolerant wasn't approving. Still, four to one odds...

And he'd still managed to kick ass.

Vin was pretty much staring into the sink, coffee cup balanced precariously on the front edge, eyes half closed. Chris moved and rescued the cup. "You should go back to bed."

"'m'all right," Vin said, gathering a burst of energy from somewhere. "I'll get dressed."

"Pack extra," Chris said, invitation more than demand. He grinned at Vin's expression. "Think: Jacuzzi."

"You drive a hard bargain, Larabee," Vin chuckled but there wasn't any resistance to the idea at all.

A half-hour later they were dressed, Vin's light pack over Chris' shoulder and the still-damp clothes bundled into a trash bag. Vin had the Henley back on with jeans this time, his wrap shades, and his Jackalopes cap. He took the stairs with a little less energy than usual -- muscles tightening up.

Denver was washed out and slick looking, the fog leaving as the smog built. The bar Vin had been at probably didn't look any better at night than it did during the day. Small but not terribly rundown, occupying the corner lot. A sign proclaiming "Mick's. est. 1974" in some kind of edged script hung over the door, the tin showing its age. The beer signs were still on but the closed sign was up. Chris checked -- they didn't open until three, closed on Sundays.

Vin had headed around the opposite corner, and Chris followed him behind the building, slowing as he found his partner.

The keys weren't going to be much help. A tow truck was the more likely outcome.

The Wrangler was old and more battered than its owner, but not usually this bad.

All four tires had been slashed, along with the soft sides and top, which didn't do much to keep rain out on its best days and now was totally useless for that purpose: the canvas was rent and torn, sagging material holding gallons of water from the rain. The windshield was gone, jagged edges and beaded glass spread over the interior and on the ground.

Vin was at the front, hands on his hips and head down, staring at the broken asphalt below his feet, where one of his headlights lay, like an unseeing Cyclops' eye.

The faded denim blue color of the jeep had gotten some additions in bright fluorescent orange like the road crews used. "Faggot" was the most legible and least vicious of the words painted along the hood and sides.

Chris only stood closer, not really touching him, but close enough to. "How old were they?" This was like the work of kids.

"My age, yours..." Vin muttered, pulling his cap off and bending forward to grip his knees like he was going to be sick.

He wasn't. It was anger working its way through him, a blind hot rage that had him up and moving again, away from Chris. Mouth and shoulders set, he walked around the jeep then back to Chris' truck to get his cell phone.

It kind of surprised Chris that he called the cops first, but he did, calmly and dispassionately giving descriptions when they arrived and asking that they dust for prints although it was unlikely they'd find much after the rain. Chris left him for a few minutes to get coffee from the service station on the opposite corner, bringing enough back for the boys in blue. He called his own mechanic, wondering if anything was salvageable at all from the jeep. Redoing the paint job and replacing the canvas were likely to cost more than the thing was worth.

It took a couple of hours, Chris not hesitating to use the fact they were Federal agents to get a little more hustle without bruising egos. He managed to keep his temper about as well as Vin kept his. Not one of the cops was overtly rude but there were a couple of looks tossed between Vin's back and the jeep, that had Chris' blood pressure building.

The cops weren't done but the officer in charge, a slim black man with Livingston on his bar, took the name of the mechanic Chris gave him. He told them he'd have it towed there when the forensics team finished, and that he would wait to talk to the bar owner.

"Owe him for some busted chairs and tables," Vin said, sounding a lot more calm and reasonable than Chris thought he felt. "I'll settle up with him on Monday." He handed Livingston two of his cards, and making sure they needed nothing else, headed for Chris' truck once more.

Inside, all the fight, all the energy just washed out of him and he slid down on the bench seat in a way that made him wince and have to move again.

"Hungry?" Chris asked. Vin had eaten nothing.

"No. Just get me the hell out of this city," Vin said, not quite snarling but close to it, and Chris headed toward I-70 and then east.

He was tempted to think Vin had fallen asleep, but nearly an hour later, pulling into the graveled drive, he stopped to check his mail and Vin was out of the truck like a shot. "Need to walk," was the only explanation he gave and Chris watched him for a moment before putting the truck in gear and passing him slowly.

It took him somewhat longer to walk the half-mile than Chris expected but Vin was in no hurry. He needed space and quiet more than anything, a behavior Chris wasn't unfamiliar with. Nor was he surprised when Vin headed past the house to the stables. He watched him, not sure riding was the best thing for him at the moment, but a few minutes later he only saw Vin lead Sire into the yard and loosely tie him to the fence, setting to the glossy black coat with a brush.

He dumped the clothes in the washer, pulled out chili from the freezer to let it simmer and heat through, giving Vin the space he needed.

Pointless and stupid -- the whole thing, but not without its good moments. Maybe even leading to better things. Chris could only hope, more concerned for Vin out of friendship than because of the sudden change in their relationship.

Which he was going to have to give some thought to at some point. They both would. Chris was assuming, but not without evidence, that this was going to extend past the weekend. Buck would be delighted and nosy, but it never crossed Chris' mind not to tell him.

He couldn't imagine caring for Vin any more than he already did, it was just a little different now. Or maybe not even that, if he were honest. This wasn't inevitable but it still made a weird kind of sense. Vin tended to be the calm voice in his ear when he was pissed off, the laughter in his chest when he felt a little melancholy. The sun didn't rise and set with Vin Tanner, but it sure did make the view a lot more pleasant.

A sizzle on the stove alerted him, and he turned the heat down, ladling out the spicy fare into bowls to carry outside. Vin had finished with Sire and turned Legius out as well, watching from the fence as the two animals stretched their legs. He was rocking slightly against the slats like he wanted to ride but knew it would be a bit much. "Soak out those aches tonight and we can ride tomorrow," Chris said coming up beside him and handing him the bowl.

Vin couldn't do anything but take it, and having taken it, he might as well eat it. He looked calmer, a little pale to Chris' eyes but steady enough. "Did you have shit needed to be done?" Vin asked, eyes still hidden by his glasses.

"Nothing that can't wait."

"Rather keep busy," Vin murmured, eating the chili steadily but without much pleasure. He was angry still and Chris couldn't blame him. He didn't quite know what to do with his own anger.

"Tack needs work," Chris agreed and if Vin recognized it as the lightest of the chores that needed to be done, he didn't say anything. He finished off the bowl and pulled his glasses down to hang around his neck.

"I'll get the leads. Deck?" he asked, still not willing to talk but it was an obvious indicator that he was done shunning Chris' company.

"Yeah. Beer?" That got a nod as well and Chris carried their bowls back into the kitchen and snagged a couple of long necks from the bar in the den.

It took them a few minutes to sort out reins and leads, snaffles and bits; oil, double-0 gauge steel wool to work on any rust and the leather repair kit kept close at hand. Vin put his back to the low post near the steps, an oil cloth across his lap as he worked, checking the leather and stitching. Chris did the same, although he made sure he was the one to notice when the beer ran low, to get up and fetch and carry.

An hour later and it was warmer, Vin pulling off his Henley to continue working in a white tank, letting the sun soak some of the aches out. They talked a little, mostly about what they were doing, what else Chris had on his list of tasks that never really got completed. It was ranch only in hope of someday. Two horses hardly constituted a herd, and even then, Chris had to hire the Albertsons down the road to see to the animals day to day. His job, their jobs, sometimes didn't make allowances for a forty-hour work week. There was land enough, though, for that hope, that someday.

Chris watched Vin wipe at a bit of leather for the third time before he reached across to clasp his wrist lightly. The knuckles were bleeding again, leaving stains on the leather -- the work and hard rubbing irritating and drying his skin. Vin flexed his hand against Chris' but didn't protest when Chris gathered up the finished gear to pile to one side. They'd actually made pretty good progress and their most often used pieces were good for another few months.

Vin wiped his hands off carefully and took a deep breath, nursing the last third of a warm beer and just looking out over the flat, scrub filled land. Chris had quite a few trees as well, and it didn't take much to look north and see the mountains.

"You gonna try and get the jeep fixed up?" Chris finally asked, wanting to breach the question, maybe the anger as well, but gently.

"See what they say," Vin returned, looking unhappy. "Be a couple grand at least. Least they didn't mess with the engine."

They hadn't as near as they'd been able to tell.

The jeep was a source of major amusement and some despair among Team Seven. Legendary in its cantankerousness in bad weather, it was still a workhorse most of the time. It had pulled Chris' big Ram out of the mud at least twice, had gotten he and Vin into places for camping no high-priced 4x4 would dare. It looked like hell, drove like it would shake itself apart...and Vin Tanner loved that jeep as he loved few things.

He'd bought it used, not looking a whole lot better than it did now. Paid cash, got in it and drove away and stayed on the road for nearly three months after he got out of the army.

He needed the freedom. Everything he owned fit inside it and even now, everything that Vin cared about in the material world, except his horse, could be packed into it with room to spare.

Sire and the jeep. They had matching temperaments, both fractious and not entirely reliable -- Sire had a temper and a devlish streak in him. The jeep probably did too, had its mechanical brain been any smarter -- or maybe it was. They were everything in mood and countenance that their owner wasn't.

It had taken Vin buying Sire for Chris to know that the latest and last addition to his team actually planned on staying. Vin had held his apartment in Purgatorio for a lot of years, but hadn't really lived there for long stretches until he joined the US Marshals. He'd been bounty hunting before that, working with a friend from the service, traveling all over the country. It was lot of living, hard and dangerous living, for a man who hadn't seen his twenty-fifth birthday at the time.

Almost eight months to the day after Chris had offered him a position on the team, Vin had gone to the stock auction with him -- Chris was just looking. Sire hadn't impressed anyone. He'd been coy and beautiful, but he'd nearly taken the handler's arm off and the price dropped.

"Holding him too tight...just wants a little respect," Vin murmured, eyes shining with admiration for the spirit of the big black.

Chris had nudged Vin who only smiled and shook his head. "No place to keep him."

So easy to offer. So hard for Vin to accept. But he had in the end...taken a closer look at the black and found him sound, not put off by the animal's temper, charmed by his tricks, and lured by the low price.

They could still get into it. It had taken Legius about a week to cotton onto the black's shenanigans -- Sire hated to be ignored and he really wasn't bad tempered by nature. He was playful, had a trickster's heart, and wasn't too fond of people who, as Vin pointed out, didn't respect him.

Which was something he did share with his owner.

The assholes might as well have carved and left graffiti on Sire, for the damage they'd done to the damned hunk of sheet metal and canvas.

"We could check out one those used parts places, where you take your own. Replace the canvas, the windshield." Chris wasn't sure he could actually do any of it. Manly instincts aside, an oil change or a rough tune-up was about all he could manage and he more often would rather pay someone else to do it. But between Buck and Josiah and Vin, they could probably get the jeep back to drivable status. The paint job might cost, but Chris would lay a bet with Ezra that Vin knew someone in his neighborhood that ran a body shop -- legal or otherwise.

"Could just have them paint a big rainbow on it and save anyone else the trouble," Vin said, and Chris felt the tension creep inside him. This was cutting at Vin a lot deeper than Chris expected. Or maybe not. Maybe Vin was just letting him see it for the first time, and that had everything to do with what had happened last night and this morning.

"Trying to scare me off, Tanner?" Chris asked mildly.

Vin was quiet for a moment, but when he looked up, squinting a little for the sun in his eyes, he was serious. "You might ought to be."

"They were assholes, Vin."

"There are a lot of them out there. And I wasn't anything but a guy in a bar. You're an agent-- "

"So are you. Nobody cares-- "

"Not about me. I'm not the SAC. I'm not looking down the years to a position as AD or Division Commander."

"You think I am?" Chris asked.

"I think if you were five years older, Larry McCall would be calling in senate favors to get you there," Vin said evenly. "So would Travis."

"I'm a pain in the ass to them most of the time, Vin," Chris said but he didn't deny the possibility. McCall cut him and his team a lot of slack.

"You get results-- "

"*We* get results. The whole team," Chris snapped, not meaning to get angry, but how they'd gotten from Vin's jeep to Chris' future, he had no idea. And he didn't like it.

"There is no team without you, Larabee. None of the rest of us would listen to anybody else."

"Like you listen now."

"Damnit, Chris," Vin was up, on his feet, agitated more than the conversation warranted. "The Bureau doesn't give a shit about one queer sniper who isn't gonna be anything more than a field agent. But you...you don't get to go head to head with the good ole' boys if they know your sticking your cock up another guy's ass -- no matter who he is."

"If they are more concerned about who I'm fucking than if I'm getting the job done-- "

"You will be." It was said with such absolute certainty, and so without apology, Chris felt like he'd been gut punched. Before he could even answer, Vin swallowed and went on. "Because you give a shit, Chris. Not about them, but about what we do. And why. And cause you're good at it. Pain in the ass you may be, but they listen to you -- about operations, about procedures, about where and when we should deploy resources. There isn't another SAC in the whole region that gets called into more planning sessions than you do. Travis and McCall are good, the best, but they are both gonna retire soon...a few years. And if you aren't there to step up to the plate...someone else will be, someone you won't be able to stomach, most likely."

Vin had obviously done a lot of thinking about his, during his walk, working on the bridles...maybe even long before that.

And he wasn't wrong, not entirely. Chris did love his job...and he was good at it, although he laid more credit for his successes on the team than Vin did.

This wasn't entirely about the job either. Chris didn't doubt that Vin's concerns were real, but he knew Chris too well to think that he really had any lofty career aspirations. If Travis and McCall had plans, they were their plans, not Chris'. The idea of taking on even more paperwork, more administrative duties and less time in the field wasn't what Chris wanted -- no matter how good he might be at it, or how well suited. In five years he might change his mind...but chances were, he'd be here with more horses, rather than there with more responsibilities.

Vin had a different perspective, and he'd been thwarted, passed over with flimsy excuses in the Marshals for promotions his records said he should have had. It wasn't anything Vin had actually said, nothing he could follow up on, but he'd been wary enough about revealing his basic nature to his teammates for it to speak of anything but someone who'd had trouble before. His records showed that Vin had not remained in the basic operations for long: he was too good for the Marshals to pass him over for the tactical group. His talent with a rifle and as an investigator was wasted in guarding courtrooms and escorting prisoners from jail to prison. They'd known that and moved him -- but then they'd stonewalled him, because... and it was a big because...Vin was gay.

Which had nothing to do with how he did his job, but it had affected how his superiors did theirs.

The army too. More mutual and Vin had gotten an honorable discharge, and wouldn't talk about it. But it had been rough -- as if being a sniper hadn't been stress enough on a twenty-two year old who had seen more death up close than most army officers twice his age.

Because he was queer.

It was Chris' turn to breathe deep, to get to his feet slowly. He'd never really stopped to think about how being gay had defined Vin as much as anything else in his life. As much as being left parentless at a young age, as much as being on his own and on the streets. He hid so little and so much of himself all at the same time.

"Nobody's gonna trash my truck because I'm with you," he said quietly, ducking his head to keep eye contact when Vin tried to look away. "And even if they did...it's a truck. It's a job."

"It's your life, Chris."

Which would change. Maybe in ways Chris didn't even understand entirely, not from this side, not any more than he could entirely understand how Nathan's life had been. He hadn't grown up black, or gay or alone. He actually got along with his parents as long as they didn't spend too much time together.

Something Vin had never really known. No one had ever sacrificed anything for him, been there when he needed them -- even if he didn't know he needed them, or didn't want to need them. His mother might have, his grandfather had tried, but there hadn't been enough time with either of them for Vin to know that. The team was as close as Vin had gotten to be able to rely on anyone but himself...

And he'd called, a little drunk, hurt...and backed off at the first hesitation from Chris.

There wasn't going to be another chance at this. Vin wasn't kidding. It was his life...and there were no guarantees that he and Vin could make it as lovers in the long term. Too much time alone for both of them to make it easy.

But Chris had the edge. He knew what it could be like...how much better it could be with someone there. No hesitation for Sarah's sake, either. Alive, and he'd have been with her until it wasn't possible any longer -- 'til death do us part, only her death had come a lot sooner than either of them could have guessed. For the longest time he'd thought it wasn't possible to go on without her, without his son, without the life he'd seen for them.

Life, however, went on anyway. With or without you.

"Yeah, it is my life," he said after a long moment and moved closer to Vin but only to turn and lay his hands on the deck railing, to look toward the barn and the corral. Sire was shifting around, making sure he was always in Legius' sight. He really didn't like to be ignored. Didn't really like to be alone.

Smart horse.

"There may be a career there for me beyond this, what we do. But on my terms, Vin. What works for me. For the Team. It's not on my personal agenda to make the ATF the best of the best, or the smartest. I can only do my best...and you know as well as I do, that no matter how good we are, or for how long, the criminals, the greedy pricks, the assholes, are still going to be out there. More of them than there are of us, unless the whole human race suddenly gets a dose of sanity, of some sense of justice. I don't think it's going to happen in my lifetime."

"Maybe not. Don't have to make it harder for yerself, though."

"Neither do you. Is this going to be harder for you?"

Chris wished he had a camera. Or maybe not. The look of surprise on Vin's face wasn't exactly the most flattering thing to see.

"You're straight."

Chris almost laughed at him and he couldn't entirely hold back the smile. "Well, now, cowboy. I think we both know that's not exactly true."

The suspicious look he got wasn't exactly flattering either, but he wasn't angry. Nor would he beg...well, not much anyway. Vin was running on empty. With a little sleep and maybe a few less upheavals, he'd be better prepared to maybe check into the long term side of things. Chris hadn't really gotten around to thinking long term either but it already felt settled.

More than. Vin might not be willing to take the chance, might feel like he couldn't. Worse, he might think that getting out quick would be easier in the long run.

Only he wasn't a coward. He was scared, a little. He was tired, hurt and confused. Those four assholes had done damage they wouldn't even understand.

And Chris was by no means certain of exactly what to do next, or if he should do anything other than give Vin some time and hope he'd settle out some.

Except he was rarely passive about anything in his life -- opposite of Vin who sometimes let things slide by him that he might ought to react to. To opportunities. Vin could fight like the devil if pushed, but he could walk away too. He could fight for what he wanted, when he wanted, but admitting to wanting at all was sometimes the hardest thing of all.

Chris eased over, putting his hip to the rail so he could face Vin again. That was his mark on Vin's throat, small and already starting to fade. "I'm not giving up on something before I even know what it is, Vin. I'll allow that I probably won't much like being called faggot or cocksucker either behind my back or to my face, but I'm thinking I've probably been called worse, and most likely without even that much truth to it." He dared to touch then, watching Vin cut his eyes at him, as if testing how much of this was reassurance for his sake, and how much of it was truth. Chris' forefinger hooked into the belt loop of Vin's jeans, tugging a little. Vin resisted, holding his weight back until Chris slipped his fingers over the waistband.

Vin stepped forward then, Chris opening his stance a bit to pull Vin between his legs as he settled back against the railing. "Could we revisit this conversation later? A few days? When you aren't...pissed off and seeing nothing but the worst that could happen?"

That was gamble, to throw it in Vin's face like that; accuse him of not thinking straight, of not seeing things clearly. Pricked his pride.

Pricked his innate sense of fairness too, his common sense. Vin didn't do any more than tense a little and rub a hand over his ribs before letting it drop to rest on Chris' hip. He chewed on the request, though, and then met Chris' gaze.

"You just don't want to have to drive me all the way back to Denver before Monday," he said, slightly accusing.

Chris grinned, tugged him a little closer. "That's entirely it...the whole plan. But, you know...if you really feel you should get back...we could call a cab."

Not a service in the city would come out this far.

"Guess I'm..."

"Stay," Chris said, quietly, making Vin look at him with the tone of his voice rather than a touch. "Give it a shot. Give us a shot..."

After a moment Vin nodded. "We might kill each other..."

"Might," Chris agreed and finally got a hand around the back of Vin' s waist, spreading his fingers out to span his lower back. "Might find something else to do..."

"Trying to live up to your nickname, stud?" Vin asked.

That was it. Chris knew he'd won the battle. Maybe not the war, but for now...

Vin didn't show any hesitancy in opening his mouth to Chris'. Not quite as urgent as in the morning, but sweet and Chris' simmering blood surrendered anger for something a little less destructive. Vin smelled of leather and oil, tasted slightly of beer. He was stiff too and Chris was careful, pushing him back gently. "I'm gonna take the tack down. I promised you a soak."

Vin was reluctant, changing tunes that fast, but he nodded. "I'll get it warmed up. Suit?" Vin's grin matched his own.

"Kind of pointless to get 'em wet at all. Towels though."

Vin nodded, rocked in to rub his groin against Chris', just briefly. Promising. Whatever else he might decide, he wasn't going to put distance between them this weekend, but he was skittish. Chris only grinned at him and let him go, eyes fixed on the tight curve of his ass under the stretched denim, at the broad planes of his shoulders as he went inside. Once he disappeared, Chris groaned softly to himself and gave his entirely too eager body a moment to calm a little.

Almost three years and he'd missed this. He could understand his own motivations and reasons, but now, presented with Vin in this new and very different light, he couldn't help but think he was some part idiot. And he was never, ever going to hear the end of it from Buck, who had teased him, early in Vin's tenure with the team, before they were sure he'd stick it out: pointing out all of Vin's more obvious assets.

The training had been rough on Vin. Not physically: the man was fast as a jackrabbit, and nimble as a squirrel. The testing and written parts of the ATF's training courses had been the worst, Vin struggling with them in silence at first.

Ezra had been the first to realize there was more to this than difficult course work. Vin could read but it was a struggle. Outside of a text book, he could break a crime scene down faster than anyone on the team besides Buck or maybe Chris. He had the instincts of a hunter, an eye for details. Broader views, motivations, those were more difficult.

Or had been. His breakdown of the long term plans of Chris' immediate superiors indicated he'd learned a lot more than Chris had realized and it surprised him as it shouldn't have. He'd come to count on Vin's assessments pretty regularly, their friendship, that undeniable connection he'd felt with Vin from the start, enhancing their ability to work together rather than being a stumbling block as friendships sometimes could be. Personal and professional weren't always a good mix.

Almost Buck's exact words, although he'd been teasing. Buck was too much the ladies man to look at someone like Vin with more than a passing thought of some fun, something different. But he'd been quick to nudge Chris with rolled eyes, predicting the female half of the bureau would be tripping over themselves at the sight of their new recruit. First day on the job and Vin had been polished up presentable. His hair had been a little shorter, neatly trimmed if not regulation, suit shirt and slacks, a spit polish to his boots that had to be a left over from his service days.

Hardly the man Chris had seen six months earlier perched on a water tower, taking calm, accurate shots at escaping felons, herding them with bullets and a steady stream of movement reports to the mix of agency operatives on the ground. When he'd finally hit ground, the perps rounded up, Miranda'd and helped into waiting transport, he'd been dirty and dusty, sweat making his jeans and the black T-shirt cling to him like a second skin. He needed a shave and probably a bath, if not a beer. Even tired as he had to be from being up on that tower for hours in the hundred degree heat of the Oklahoma stockyard, he was calm and collected, quiet and professional. His boss had about half-laid into him for something, hampered only by the presence of his peers from the DEA and ATF. When his boss had stalked away finally, Vin spit out the gum he'd been chewing to keep his mouth wet, and glanced at the DEA man. "Might want to move your cars. Wind's shifting to the southwest," was all he'd said, tipping his hat and pulling off his sunglasses to reveal the bluest eyes Chris had ever seen.

Something about how he said it, in the face of all else, had Chris moving the ATF van after Vin made his way back to his own team. A half-hour later, he was laughing himself silly when the DEA teams started complaining about the overwhelming smell around their vehicles. It was ten degrees hotter by then and the stench of the cattle cars to the south of them was rank and fresh.

Chris had still been amused when he'd rounded up his own men for a drink. A successful bust and the three agencies had managed a truce of sorts, most of them meeting for beers at the local bar favored by the Marshal Tac unit.

Vin had been there, sitting off a bit, wanting the beer more than company. He'd changed to jeans that were more threads than weave, a Harley-Davidson T-shirt and given Chris his first glimpse of Vin's prized Jackalopes jacket. He'd ended up staying, talking to Vin, longer than was probably politic, preferring the company of Vin and his own team to his ranked colleagues -- including Vin's boss.

It had surprised Chris to discover that Vin lived in Denver. But the Marshal's Tactical group tended to be highly mobile -- he turned his off assignment hours in at the Denver Marshals' office and did spend time guarding courtrooms, escorting prisoners. Chris had probably seen him a half dozen times at the federal courthouse and never really noticed him among the other Marshals in brown and khaki.

He'd left his card, not sure how far he could push the new acquaintance but he'd had Vin's records sent over, been both impressed and suspicious. Vin had called him nearly three months later, asking if the offer was still good. Team seven had run through two snipers, not so much for competency issues as personality. He'd met with Vin and been surprised by the change. In Oklahoma, Vin had been tired from a day's work. When Chris saw him again, he was tired and worn from more than a day -- weeks on a manhunt, like something from a bad action novel. It hadn't ended entirely well. Chris had read about the results, but not the specifics, in the newspaper. But the Marshals, like their northern cousins the Mounties, or the legendary Texas Rangers, tended to get their man.

Even before Chris could get the transfer papers filed there had been another reprimand in Vin's files for "endangering fellow officers by refusing to follow an order." Chris had taken it seriously. He'd checked, he'd called in a few favors, wondering if Vin had approached him when he had to avoid being tagged as a troublemaker, or unreliable.

He'd refused to fire blind into a hostage situation. Granted, the men they were hunting were convicted killers, murderers, and the hostages they held probably didn't have much of a chance anyway, but Vin hadn't been willing to risk their lives when he knew he could do better. He'd shifted position, against orders.

It took more digging to discover that his boss, who'd been fully informed of Vin's movements -- against orders or otherwise -- totally disregarded the change and had gone ahead with the plan he'd had without cover from Vin.

And ignored the fact that Vin was moving into his line of fire. Vin had managed to take out two of the men before forced to seek cover for himself. Net result was the loss of one of the three hostages -- although not from friendly fire -- and all four convicts dead.

The latter had been marked as "regrettable, but inevitable." The loss of the hostage called tragic. Vin was well on his way to being not only railroaded out of the Marshals but facing criminal charges. The only casualty from friendly fire had been Vin. Not his fellow agents. He'd taken a bullet in the shoulder that put him off the active roster.

Chris had made some calls, avoiding Vin's superiors and talking to a couple of the other men from the Tac unit that had seemed friendly and honest enough in Oklahoma. They'd hedged their comments, and it was by no means cut and dried -- Vin had acted against orders, but there had been plenty of time for the Tac unit to adjust to his new position. Impatience on the part of his team leader had been the real problem.

It had taken some doing and some not so subtle threats. Treasury and Justice and didn't see eye to eye on much; their focus and missions slightly different. But the Marshals didn't want to go through what the ATF had with Ruby Ridge and Waco -- they couldn't stand the press any better -- and the Tac unit, by and large, was a highly thought-of operation.

In the end, Team Seven, ATF Special Operations Group, got their sharpshooter. The Marshals avoided scrutiny they didn't want and Vin's boss got promoted right out of field work.

Chris figured the ATF came out with the best deal.

Better for himself, all around, and in some ways he was just now beginning to fully realize.

* * *

The switch for the hot tub was just inside the back door and Vin hit it on entering, figuring the water would be tolerable in July even without the heaters -- but the idea of a hot soak was enough to make his bruises hum in anticipation. It hadn't been necessary to bribe him, but it was a good one nonetheless.

Chris' home was nearly as familiar to Vin as his own. He'd spent a lot of time here when he'd first brought Sire to the ranch -- still amazed at himself for spending so much on the animal and committing himself to the ongoing upkeep. Fair was fair though, although Chris had said it didn't cost much more to keep two horses than one, but he was too self-consciously aware that Chris knew exactly how much he made, and probably had a fair idea of his expenses.

Even then he'd found himself shying from being beholden to anyone -- even Chris. Maybe even especially Chris. Their friendship had come on so suddenly, felt so right from the first -- and he already felt he owed the man more than gratitude for giving him a chance outside the well of uncertainty his position with the US Marshals had become.

The hall closet rendered towels and Vin stripped down, hesitating a few moments before folding his clothes up neatly and leaving them on the end of Chris' bed, rather than in the guest bedroom. He tucked his own towel around his hips and with less hesitation wrapped a jar of petroleum and condoms into a hand towel before heading to the kitchen for a couple of beers, then back out to the deck. He probably could do with less alcohol in his system, but he was all about the hair of the dog today. Waking up to Chris was almost -- almost -- enough to balance out what had admittedly been a shitty twenty-four hours.

Chris was gone, along with the leather they'd been working on and Vin pulled the cover off the Jacuzzi. The jets soon had the water frothy and Vin didn't wait, only pulled the towel off and eased onto one of the contoured seats, groaning out loud as he sank deeper into the water. He idly wondered if the roof of his apartment could handle the weight of a filled tub.

Eyes closed and he was still aware of the tread of Chris' feet on the decking, opening them slowly to see Chris watching him, a half-smile on his lips and a bemused expression on his face. He sat on the edge and tested the water. "Little cool."

"Warming up."

That made Chris grin a little broader and he stood up again to pull his sweats off, not minding the fact that Vin's eyes never left him, and Vin didn't hide his slow appreciation of the body unashamedly displayed in front of him.

Clean lines...throat to chest to hips, to the gentle sway and bob of his dick against leanly-muscled thighs. Paler at belly and ass than chest and arms -- gold to cream and Vin knew a few women that would envy Chris Larabee the even tone of his skin. 'Course, those same women would be envying Vin his present position even more and he chewed on the lingering doubts as Chris slipped into the water beside him.

They weren't quite touching: the water bubbled up between their arms and shoulders. Not awkward though as Vin closed his eyes again and let the rapidly increasing heat of the water ease his muscles and soothe the bruises. The cuts stung a little from the chemicals that kept the water bacteria-free, but only enough to remind him they were there. He could only barely remember getting them, or how, but it got clearer as he focused on each one. The one along his throat from the heavy ring and watch his opponent had been wearing, skimming the side of his neck rather than connecting solidly with his jaw again. A chair breaking beneath him and the side of the bar colliding with his chest, explained the others.

He should have walked away. He couldn't even blame the three -- or six -- beers he'd had, just an overall sense of dissatisfaction that had dogged him most of Friday, from work to home.

He couldn't say, honestly, that he hadn't taken the guy for Chris when he walked in. It was the first thing that sprang to mind -- unlikely as he knew it could be for Chris to walk into a bar Vin was in by circumstance with no prior arrangement. Hope maybe, carefully hoarded, and Vin could only begin to count how many times in the last few months -- if not the past year -- he'd momentarily seen Chris in a stranger's form, or heard his laugh, the way he walked.

Damn well pitiful -- or so he'd thought and still did even with last night. Not like he lacked for partners if he wanted them; somebody was always willing, somewhere, anytime. He'd tested it out for a solid month in San Francisco just days out of the army: alternately fucking and getting his brains fucked out after an extended celibacy that had as much to do with the army's intolerance as spending too many months in countries where two men fucking was likely to bring far harsher punishments than harassment or getting his ass kicked a little.

Denver had its places: a night on Colfax could render a little physical relief as well as a few cautious hours spent with men who weren't quite friends but were more than acquaintances. A bit of guard he could drop for awhile over a beer. It left him feeling a little guilty and uncertain though because he still kept that ragged façade up most of the time...and he didn't know any more if it were fear or caution or just instinct. He might be out more or less, and he certainly didn't have any lack of pride -- idiotic extremes that he took it sometimes -- but the two never quite synched up together.

And even those nights had become rarer...saved or held off until jacking off to his own company and whatever mood or music caught his attention wasn't enough anymore. When he wanted contact he'd hit the bars. It was a sure way for contact -- physical and mindless, if necessary -- sometimes hard enough to make him a little regretful the next morning, if not damn well sore.

Maybe that was guilt too, although at the time it felt like nothing but release, sweet and pure.

Chris' hand riding along his knee and the inside of his thigh made him open his eyes again, glad the light was behind them.

Intimate the touch was, but not so much sexual. "Afraid you'd fallen asleep and were gonna drown...or at least wrinkle up to nothing," Chris said, his other arm sliding along the ledge of the Jacuzzi under Vin's head.

He had been close to dozing but he shook his head and without really thinking about why, only suddenly wanting more of the physical than the mental, opened his thighs a little wider and leaned back on Chris' arm. "Fuck me," he said quietly, not letting their gaze break, not wanting to think too much, because it confused him to feel this way; like he'd been starving all this time.

"Vin-- " There was a protest there, Chris looking more troubled than disinterested as the twitch of his cock against Vin's thigh attested.

"Right here, like this," he said and didn't even have to gesture to the towel -- Chris' eyes went right to it.

Indecision still, but Vin didn't push, didn't touch. He both needed and wanted Chris and could vocalize neither.

Chris rolled across him and reached and came back standing, drying himself off a bit before slipping the condom on and digging his fingers into the lube. Wouldn't last long between the water and the heat and Vin didn't care if he came in dry, as long as he came in hard. He moved up though, balancing his ass on the edge of the pool and reaching for Chris's slick hand. It drew Chris in closer, close enough to kiss which made all the difference, and seemed to ease whatever doubts Chris had. His fingers dug almost harshly into Vin's ass, his dick hard and solid where it poked Vin in the belly -- like he was reading Vin's mind again that this needed to be, he wanted it to be, hard and without care or concern for anything that had come before.

But the kiss was all Vin's to control and he sucked hard on the offered tongue, took nips from the full lower lip and never closed his eyes even when he got a smile from Chris when both of them were almost cross-eyed.

Blurred vision gave way to something more intense and a whole lot clearer as Chris worked him, finding the nub of his prostate and stroking it hard, again and again until Vin was almost bucking against him, half-way to fucking himself to release on the probing fingers. He had to hold onto the edge of the tub or fall, shudders running through him when Chris gripped his cock as well as worked another finger into his ass until Vin was ready to beg him to just shove his fist in there and be done with it. He wasn't sure what Chris' reaction would be to know he would be half-serious. He already felt like his life was being split wide open by the revelation or confirmation that Chris had not only fucked men before, but actually thought fucking Vin was not only allowable and pleasurable, but something he might like to do for more than weekend.

His grip changed suddenly, Vin pulled forward and Chris supporting his lower back, angling in, face flushed and dick hard enough and swollen enough for Vin's hole to give a little shocked resistance despite the workout it had gotten. Locking gazes, Vin hooked knee and ankle around Chris' thighs, and caught him between legs and hips, Chris' dick opening Vin wide with a burning shiver of painful friction that left him aching and gasping. Chris looked both shocked and angry if the darkening of the green in his eyes were indicator of more than lust.

He caught Vin's hips, almost growling when Vin wouldn't -- couldn't -- do anything but try to hold him still and steady for a moment while the pain passed. There was slickness in his ass -- it was only the muscles at his anus that had been startled into seizure.

"Dammit, Vin-- " Chris was snarling a little, fighting the locked muscles of Vin's arms, the tendons in his throat standing out as he tried not to thrust, as his body -- any man's body -- would have demanded. "You're hurt enough-- "

"Not hurt...hard," Vin said, not noticing the doubled meaning of what he said, his own cock recovering rather more quickly than his ass.

Vin didn't know what was on his own face, what Chris heard in his tone of voice. He didn't know anything save that Chris was suddenly both closer and deeper than he had been. The trembling in his arms became less as Chris took the weight a bit and eased him down, across the broad ledge surrounding the pool, and raised his hips enough to sink in just that much more.

And take leverage from the edge to pull back and stroke across his already overstimulated prostate. Not hard, but oh, so good and he found a rolled up towel slipped under his lower back. The back of his thigh found a natural resting place along the slick, firm muscles of Chris' chest -- and enough of an angle change to make them both gasp. He had nothing to brace against save Chris' arms where they were anchored against the sides of the tub, and Vin's leg hooked around Chris' back.

Everything ached, but not enough to override the sheer pleasure at having Chris give up whatever resistance he might have had and pound into Vin steadily with every bit of force the strong muscles of his back and thighs could produce. Water sloshed up and along the sides, and there was a scrape and squeak along the fiberglass, the rhythm breaking now and again as Chris had to regain purchase on the wet lip of the tub.

It drew it out, Vin riding the edge of release long enough to make him reach for his dick, only to find Chris grabbing his hand and pulling free of him entirely. He was panting and flushed, a little wild around the eyes as Vin had never seen him. He gave Vin a wolfish smile that sent another shudder of desire through him that had less to do with the pounding blood in his groin and dick than the rush of emotion that centered in his chest and worked outward. The same hand that had blocked him pulled him upward, Vin sitting, neither prepared nor willing to resist the mouth that swooped down on his.

Chris was hard enough to hiss when the press of their bodies trapped his dick and Vin wanted nothing more that to slip back into the water and suck his cock until they were both close to drowning.

But he'd offered his ass and Chris had every intention of taking him up on it, turning him and still managing to avoid his ribs by catching him at chest and hip. Vin's turn to brace and he did, feeling Chris slide his dick up his ass with far less resistance than before and bent him over the decking.

Too close for both of them and it was over in a few moments, Chris jerking against his ass then burying face and lips in his hair, against his neck, reaching for him without leaving him empty. Milking him even after he'd come and pulling him back against to ease them both into the water. How they didn't drown was beyond Vin's ability to understand or care.

It took some serious coaxing and a sharp slap on the ass to get him out of the water, half-stumbling toward the house, Chris' hands on his shoulders. Wet bodies hit the pristine bed cover and Vin only felt Chris wiping the water from his back.

"'m gonna sleep again," he warned and heard a throaty chuckle.

"Go on. I'll take it as flattery. I'll expect it reciprocated."

Vin grinned at that and rolled, bringing their water-slicked bodies closer together and drifting toward sleep before what Chris said actually registered entirely. When it did he felt a little unsteady, uncertain and felt Chris' arms tighten around him.

"Trust me, Vin." Barely a whisper and it shouldn't have even needed to be said.

"Do. Not you…" He heard Chris sigh, felt the air fan past his temple. "Sorry."

"I'm okay with having fucked you into exhaustion. I have a bigger problem with the idea I may have fucked you stupid."

There was annoyance there but it was tinged with humor and Vin could appreciate it, even share it a little. "Never been too smart about stuff like this, cowboy. This settling in stuff. Tend to…proceed with caution..."

Chris stroked and hand through his hair, kissed him, tangled their legs and then went still. The change was so sudden, Vin lifted his head.

There was doubt in the hazel eyes and a frown.

"Never even stopped to think about it-- " Chris said. "You seeing somebody?"

Just you every time I turn around. Vin shook his head. "No…naw. Ain't been that…not for…"

The silence drew out.

"For? Since when…"

"Since never," Vin murmured. "Can't…haven't ever…no one that counted." He pulled back and Chris let him, watching him, which was more than Vin wanted to deal with. Now he sounded stupid and pitiful.

"Good."

Not what Vin expected to hear and kind of out of context, he thought, sitting up to stare at his friend -- lover. Boss. He was going to need score card.

"I want it…this …to count," Chris said, gaze holding steady and with such conviction, Vin felt his heart stutter

Which was more feeling put into words than Vin could deal with properly, but he couldn't not answer. Couldn't deny the clench in his gut. How could Chris say things like that and not sound like an idiot? Well, not so much of an idiot as Vin would…had he the guts to say it first. Maybe he needed to let his sparring partner bounce his head off a bar a few more times.

Nothing particularly eloquent came to mind and he found courage enough to meet the eyes watching him so carefully, only to nod. "It does."

"Then stop worrying about it."

He didn't know how Chris could be so sure. He doubted it had been in the back of his friend's mind for months…but he did sound sure, solidly in the groove of that aggravating Larabee confidence. Not ignoring Vin's arguments, just finding them weighing in on the light side of common sense.

And he couldn't very well ignore or avoid Chris for the rest of the weekend -- hadn't intended to. Damn near impossible with Chris laying there, naked, no more worry on his face than for the fact that the bed was now pretty damp.

With an ease of movement that wouldn't have been possible an hour before Vin shifted and rolled, ending up with Chris beneath him. Looking less serious than satisfied, Chris adjusted to his weight with a grunt and found a position that was a little more comfortable. It apparently included letting his palm skate across Vin's ass before coming to rest on the crease of his closed thighs, fingers worming their way between his legs like it was the pocket of his jeans until he had Vin's leg canted across his belly and thighs.

Vin felt not unlike a horse blanket, except it was comfortable, and felt more like he'd been here before than getting fucked had. Everything about Chris was familiar in ways he thought maybe it shouldn't be, up to the way his lover's fingers stroked through his hair as if it were something he'd wanted to do for a long time. When Chris' hand finally stilled Vin lifted his head, studying the face he rarely saw so relaxed, or so unguarded.

He moved carefully, easing off Chris' body, sliding toward the edge of the bed and drawing the dryer side of the bedspread up carefully to cover Chris before gathering up his jeans and shirt.

He made it as far as the door.

"I never took you for a coward, Vin."

The accusation alone was enough to make his back stiffen. "I ain't running," he said but didn't turn around. "Need to make a phone call."

Chris said nothing more and Vin didn't dare turn around, even when he heard Chris shift on the bed.

He did need to make a phone call…or three. An hour later he had a line on a rag top, and someone who would repaint the body without putting him into hock for the rest of the year. Feeling like he'd gained some measure of control over at least one part of his life he raided Chris' refrigerator for bread and jelly and a beer and headed outside again.

The Jacuzzi was still bubbling, and Vin gave vague thoughts to offering to help Chris clean it, not sure the filtering system was set up to handle the kind of fluids they'd dumped into it. He did cut it off, though, before settling in on the steps they had shared earlier.

It occurred to him he could be inside with Chris wrapped around him tighter than the damned Ace bandage and he had to be three kinds of fool to be outside watching the sun set. Everything was too sharp and too close from fight to finish.

And maybe he was running. Seemed like it should be Chris doing the backing off but so far he hadn't and if Vin were honest with himself -- and he tried to be -- Chris Larabee didn't seem to run from much. But this was different.

It should be different. It was for Vin and it was making him crazy because he didn't know why. Wasn't this half the crap stories in the gay rags he sometimes bought -- fantasy of queer men having their straight best friends falling for them? Maybe he should pen a few words to Jack and see if he couldn't pick up twenty-five dollars and a byline. He could add it to his jeep repair fund.

There had to be irony in the fact that he'd managed to get fucked over by four 'phobes in a bar and still get fucked well and hard in ways that would make their stomachs heave and their toes curl. Maybe he should hunt them up and thank them.

He'd handle it better if it had been just a quick and convenient lay. Even if it had been Chris -- and knew it never could be.

Shouldn't surprise him. Chris Larabee had taken more risks for him than anyone in Vin's life -- taking Vin on a crack team when his own career was skidding to an ugly halt, trusted him with a friendship Vin had come to know was as rare as ice storms in Bermuda.

He set his beer down and wiped at his face. He really wasn't usually the kind to contemplate all the ways things could go wrong unless it was part of the job -- didn't like borrowing trouble. He didn't like losing things either. Not important things and Chris' friendship was about the most important thing Vin could think of.

So far it seemed to be holding, although he expected Chris was feeling a bit confused as well at the moment.

Which wasn't fair. Sighing, Vin gathered up the detritus of his impromptu meal and took it back to the kitchen to clean up a bit. The least he could do was talk to the man.

Somebody was looking out for him though. Chris was fast asleep, looking relaxed and sexy as hell with the sheets bunched around his hips, but one leg still bared all the way up to the curve of his ass. Yeah, and how far would this get when Vin was ready to tell Chris how much he'd like to bury his cock in that tight ass?

Borrowing trouble again. He sat down carefully, leaving his clothes on, trying to rehearse what he could say, what he might say in the vain hope that he wouldn't sound like a fool when he actually got to say the words.

Spared that, he only sank deeper onto the bed, grabbed a spare pillow to protect his ribs and fell asleep to the rhythm of Chris Larabee's snores.

* * *

It was overly warm and fully dark, Chris waking under a combination of things -- like going to bed too early, the need to piss, hunger when he woke enough to think about it.

And the mild sweat that spoke of a body pressed close to his own.

Vin was dressed, sleeping the sleep of the dead, or the seriously exhausted, breathing soft and shallow and leaving a warm, moist spot on his shoulder. He'd been the one to roll, arms and legs settling over and around Vin's body like he expected to find him there, every night, in his bed. Not enough light to see anything but shadows, silvered patches from a thin shaft of moonlight along Vin's cheek and his arm.

He heard a low muffled whinny and glanced at the clock. Just past nine and the horses were still out. It wouldn't hurt them and the barn doors were open. He shifted, carefully he thought, barely managing to block Vin's fist as he woke suddenly and came up fighting.

"Easy," Chris said, sharply enough to cut through the sleep fog of Vin's brain, enough to still movement but not the unbreachable tension in the lean body. "Easy, Vin. Need to get up."

He thought he got a slight nod and felt a reluctance to leave until Vin was fully awake, but even as he hesitated, Vin sighed and rolled to his back. Chris took the opening, slipping from bed into the bath and snagging a pair of shorts off the top of his dirty laundry pile. He heard Vin move, too late to stop him….but he could hear the water in the hall bathroom.

He wasn't in much of a mood for cooking but the freezer revealed some left-overs and he thanked God for whatever woman had come up with the idea of salad in bags for lazy bachelors. Iced tea was equally available out of a can.

"Found a rag top…not too pricey," Vin said showing up in the kitchen doorway.

It took Chris a moment to wonder what or when or how and then gave Vin a smile and handed him plates and silverware. "Good. Haven't heard anything but haven't checked messages either," he admitted, glancing at the phone and yeah, the light was blinking. They'd both slept through the low ring -- not entirely surprising, because anyone who needed to get hold of Chris for real knew better than to call anything than his cell. He let Vin sort out lettuce and bowls and checked.

The garage had Vin's jeep, Chris' mechanic sounding less than confident at restoring the vehicle but he could replace the tires, get the headlights working…and maybe recommend somebody for the body work. All of it relayed to Vin who looked both relieved and resigned at the rough estimate. Chris could almost see him adding it up between the repairs and the roof and the paint job, a tightening of his mouth as he hit the same conclusion Chris had -- that the jeep was hardly worth the money it would take to get it driveable.

Chris was half-tempted to offer, only he knew Vin would rather sell it for parts rather than borrow the money, and it was unlikely he had insurance on it to cover this kind of damage.

There was nothing from the police but Chris had every intention of following up on it.

"Ought to just scrap it," Vin said, confirming Chris' observations.

Which is what Chris would have suggested, except now it made him mad. "Ought to find the assholes who did it and make them cover the damages -- or take it out of their hides," Chris said and Vin let out a low chuckle.

"Yeah. You hold 'em down and I'll kick them," Vin said as the microwave pinged.

Chris grinned at him and brought the reheated meatloaf to the table. "I'm game. Buck would help," he said and caught Vin's gaze when he lifted his head.

"Yeah, he would. Plan on saying somethin' to him?"

"Like they aren't going to know. Those bruises aren't going away by Monday."

A flicker of Vin's eyes and Chris knew he wasn't talking about the fight. "Yeah, I plan on telling him. Unless there's nothing to tell?" Chris shouldn't be able to talk at all with the air trapped in his lungs and throat and his heart holding back on beating.

"He does hate being kept in the dark," Vin said after a moment, the blue of his eyes looking clean and pure, a hint of doubt lingering, but Chris knew it was for him, instead of Vin's own circumstances.

"Never been able to keep much from him -- sometimes he knows me better than I know myself. Like someone else I know," Chris said, cutting the meat loaf into hefty sections.

"Nothing to know…" Vin said but he looked pleased, color tingeing his cheeks and Chris shook his head. Lord, and he thought Vin only did that around women or when he was pissed off.

"We can work this out," Chris said and reached across the table for the tense fingers knotted on the table top. Vin's fingers uncurled from their fist almost immediately and he nodded, giving Chris' hand a squeeze before turning his attention to the food.

Chris gave Vin's silence the respect it deserved, the comfort in it reminding him of other meals had here at this table or at bars after work when Vin would sprawl over one whole side of a booth just so he could watch. There weren't too many people Chris knew that respected his own tendency toward quiet. Not Buck, certainly, because Buck liked talking and noise and movement. He was like a big magpie, all fascinated and delighted by the bright shiny bits of life all around him. Vin was fascinated and delighted too but he took it into himself, no need to share, or not so loudly. A flicker of eyes and a grin at something or other and Chris would follow that gaze and find himself grinning at whatever Vin had found so amusing. Vin trusting Chris to get the joke whether it be a couple fighting, or a kid taking on the world with a plastic sword and a towel cape. Or better yet to just find joy in something as spectacular as the view from his apartment roof.

"You made this?"

Vin was half way through the slab of meatloaf and Chris looked his way suspiciously. He was not and had never claimed to be an inspired cook.

"Yeah."

"It's good," Vin said and another bite disappeared. That was it and Chris found himself ducking his head to hide his own grin.

Finishing first, Vin carried his dishes to the sink and set up the coffee, catching the warning glare from Chris as he put five, not eight, scoops into the filter. He washed and Chris dried the dishes, hips bumping gently in a way they had before after they eaten, but it meant more. Accidental once, but now Chris wanted contact. It surprised him a little. He'd never been much of a touchy-feely guy -- not casually like Buck or even like Vin who was never shy about a hand to a shoulder, or back. Not lingering, just contact.

But he had been once, he thought as the last dish was put away and Vin reached for coffee cups. With his wife, with his son. His family had ever been the kind to touch or hug or lean. His younger sister ready to take advantage of her impressive height and heels to fold her arms along Chris' back when they saw each other.

And something about Vin, now that he was noticing, fit right against him: ass to pelvis, waist to arms. Vin didn't even seem startled to find himself embraced as he poured coffee, only rested his hands on the counter, body relaxed even with the underlying stiffness from sore ribs and bruises and hardly seemed to breathe at all. "What do we usually do on the weekends?" Chris asked, not entirely facetiously. It felt a little weird, but in a good way. Not unfamiliar, and there wasn't any reason it should. Vin was prone to spend a couple of weekends a month here: riding, catching up with the boys for a football game. Sometimes just popping in Friday after work and taking Sire out with a sleeping bag and some food and Chris wouldn't see him until Sunday. But it did feel strange. Stranger still because what he wanted was to tumble Vin back into bed and see if they'd missed anything interesting to do with their clothes off.

"Work our asses off, drink too much beer and nap in the afternoon," Vin said. "Watch some TV, catch a game…pretend Wheel of Fortune doesn't make us both feel stupid." He leaned back, bumping Chris with a knowing deliberateness. "You feeling 'romantic' there, cowboy?"

Chris buried his laughter in Vin's hair and tightened his grip. "I'm not sure romantic is the word. Horny is more like it."

"Yeah," Vin said and turned, almost smoothly enough that Chris didn't have to step back. Then he couldn't, and wouldn't have wanted to. Vin's mouth covered his with little warning and no request for admission. Falling into the aggressive passion of it, Chris was willing to bet that Vin was an expert at slipping into theatres without a ticket too. It required a firm eye to the goal, no fear and a ballsy confidence.

Even banged up, Vin was like liquid fire under his hands, under his mouth. Skin hot and mouth hotter, wetter. The muscles under his shirt were hard, supple. He pushed back with just enough pressure, just enough force to bring them together with out trying for any kind of dominance, or to take control of the kissing or the touching. Without Vin's hands touching anything but his chest and shoulder, Chris found himself hard, hungry. He felt like something had shorted the connection between brain and cock, sending a continuous pulse of sensation through his blood when Vin's mouth shifted. He blew a breath damp and warm across his cheek, to his ear, Chris almost groaning when teeth closed gently but firmly over the lobe and he could feel the tip of Vin's tongue teasing the lower fleshy part.

"Bed…" Chris managed to rasp out, not sure where he'd found either the strength or the wit because Vin was being persuasive without half-trying and Chris could see them going at it right in here, in the kitchen doorway. Rubbing, fucking, neither he nor his cock seemed to care which, but almost just out of his perception, he recognized the flinch in Vin when he gripped his waist too hard. The shift to the left he made when Chris' mouth pressed at the still too tender skin of his neck.

Vin didn't object, but he didn't stop. Moving became an awkward dance between walking and neither of them wanting to lose contact. Chris felt a little drunk, a little doped, and a whole lot like he was going to burst only to hiss sharply when Vin's hands pulled at his shorts.

The bed was suddenly there, and Vin, and the soft "umpfh" his partner made was more startled than pained. He had hair in his mouth, a hand full of loose denim and Vin chuckled throatily as Chris struggled to help him push them down and off without bothering to stand up.

If there was anything that could feel better than just rubbing up against Vin, feeling those long strong fingers close around them both, Chris couldn't think of what it could be. They were tangled and moving, flesh pressed together at as many points as they could manage. He swallowed against the cry that rose in his throat, sucking hard on Vin's tongue, wetness at lips and cheek as more wetness spilled between them. Felt the curious mix of tension and boneless relaxation that overtook Vin when he followed only a few moments later.

And long minutes after that Chris found himself breathing a little easier, belly stuck to Vin's and his fingers moving through the tangled, damp hair. Vin's breathing was shallow but steady and he barely moved under the stroking, stirring only when Chris reached and fumbled until he found his shorts and used the soft jersey material to wipe them a little cleaner before pulling the comforter over them both.

"You taking something you want to share with me?" Vin mumbled in his ear, after the wipe down, sounding amused and a little breathless and whole lot pleased, his hand tracing patterns, light and soothing across Chris' back like he was painting words or promises there.

"Been too long since it was this good," Chris said, an admission of sorts, despite Buck's best efforts, or the interest of more than one woman Chris had met over the past couple of years. Started out good, fun, but never this kind of burn or need, maybe willing but rarely wanting as he did now. He levered himself up onto one arm, eyes stroking over Vin's face in the half light from the hall, the bright spill from the bathroom.

He could appreciate all things about his partner, both physical and otherwise, hand laying across the flat stomach, tracing the edge of the bruising there which must have tickled because Vin shifted only a little, watching Chris, eyes glitter bright in the odd mix of light and shadow. Chris just as glad it was dark, and his own face in shadow because he could feel the heat in his face under that regard. "Early yet," he said finally, even though it wasn't. If only to fill the silence, something he rarely found a problem with Vin, but now it was almost too quiet, too close, afraid he might actually hear what Vin was thinking and not sure he could bear it.

Not yet. Not so soon. It was fear, somewhat. Not for he and Vin, precisely, not the fears Vin had about what could happen with their jobs, with their friends, with the future.

Maybe the latter, a little, especially with Vin bruised and battered and yet …beautiful in the darkness. He'd been wrong to accuse Vin of cowardice when his own was rising up to slap him in the face. The idea, the real possibility of another loss, maybe even more likely with Vin. It had certainly seemed closed to impossible with Sarah, with his son.

He never did hear Vin's thoughts, but he suspected Vin heard his, because he pulled him down, stretched them out, covered and curled and pulled Chris away from the fear, back into the darkness as if he could hide him there, hide them. And Chris hid, willing to be sheltered holding but not grasping, refusing to be that needy, to show his fear that much more obviously.

Only later, toward the wee hours of the morning, at oh dark hundred did he wake again to find they'd separated a little, just barely. Vin was curled to his back but with space between them, one arm resting across Chris' ribs and chest, breath warm across the back of his neck. Chris rolled and stared up at the ceiling, holding Vin's arm across his belly when the other man stirred, half woke and settled once more, sniffing and his fingers flexed in sleep. "Not going anywhere," Chris whispered.

Vin mumbled something back, largely unintelligible and vaguely disgruntled. Chris only grinned, closed his eyes and let sleep wander back into the mazes his mind made and take over.

* * *

He'd used the hall bathroom to shower while the coffee was brewing, rising before the dawn actually broke and even more stiff than he'd been the day before. Not all of it leftovers from the brawl. He'd take the few extra pangs and twinges, though. Definitely. Chris slept on and Vin didn't blame him, grinning a little foolishly at the very sloppy kiss he'd been offered. Who knew Larabee was such a mush?

The shower helped, easing the aches from pain to simply sore and helping to wash out the bruises on his face a little. They were already shifting to more purple and yellow than black and green. His eyes stung though although the edges of the cut looked to have closed up. It didn't bleed, anyway, when he washed his hair.

Morning was still brightening and cold and a little damp, jeans and shirts warding off some of it, coffee taking the edge off the rest. The horses had gone in on their own and Vin took a slow walk down, leaving his cup on the fence post. He wasn't up to baling hay, but a little mash and oats, some freshwater from the hose and Legius, at least, was grateful. Sire only shook himself like a dog and looked like he wished he'd taken a roll in the creek just so he could shed water on Vin. In apology, Vin wiped down his coat, grinning at the pleasurable shudder the big goof couldn't hide. "Poser," he whispered into one silky ear and then, from fairness, wiped down Legius as well.

What was left in his cup was cold, but he drank it anyway, settling on the steps where they'd cleaned the tack yesterday. He closed his eyes briefly against the sudden fiery emergence of the sun through the tree line, then watched those fingers of light stretch across the land like molten gold until they vanished in the overall wash of brightness as the sun cleared the horizon. He was sleepy still, leaning against the rail post, giving half-formed thoughts to more coffee, but this was nice. Quiet. Leaching out small worries and anxieties as the crickets fell silent and the birds started up.

He felt Chris behind him, in the light tread across the cedar planking, in the whisper of denim on lean thighs. A fresh cup of coffee was handed down, still steaming in the early chill and Chris' legs were supporting and solid at his back. A few sips with no words and then Chris was crouching settling behind him, snug and warm with his legs on either side of Vin's, one arm resting lightly around his waist.

Had he ever known this? It didn't feel familiar but at the same time, felt as comfortable as an old pair of jeans. No quick kisses or murmured greetings, just Chris warm and real at his back, sharing the morning and the bitter bite of coffee, space and time opened up and receded like the shadows were chased from the encroaching sunlight. Sire wandered out again, to toss his head at them and then give a few practice prances at the fence before whipping aback and away to slow and lip at the tufts of grass that grew around the posts.

Chris set his empty cup down, hands spanning Vin's shoulders to rub a little, work out the stiffness that lingered or just to touch. Vin didn't rightly care. "Feel up to a ride after breakfast?"

It was soft, barely breaking the silence, not alarming the birds and Sire didn't so much as flicker an ear. "Might," Vin admitted, wondering if he could hold onto this moment a little longer and then deciding not. Had to let go of it to let the next one come and the one after that. Stretching out over time…he couldn't see the end of them they were so vast and many.

A hand rubbed over his ribs, light but it still made him flinch and the other hand at his shoulder tightened a little. "You sure you shouldn't see a doctor? We have an op later this week."

So those moments could be interrupted. Vin dropped his head, knowing it was like Chris to worry, knowing he wouldn't be Chris if he didn't. Couldn't be the man Vin wanted to work for or be with if he didn't. And he was right, as little as Vin liked it. Right now the idea of climbing to the perch he'd be scaling in about four days made his stomach sour. But in four days…"Might." And he leaned back, not flinching this time when arms encircled his waist, tightened and he let out the breath he'd been holding.

"Later this afternoon, then," Chris offered, lips pressed to the side of Vin's throat. "Just to be sure."

"Just to be sure," Vin echoed. Knowing he was, whatever it all meant or what it would bring.

"That was easy," Chris said and he sounded a little surprised. Vin only grinned, knowing they weren't talking about the same things, not at the moment.

"Yeah, well, you worry too much. Wouldn't want you to get grey before your time."

"I'm thinking it's not worry that's gonna make me grey early," Chris chuckled, soft sound, softer breath on Vin's skin. "But I'm sure it's going to be worth it."

Then again, maybe they were talking about the same thing. "Have to wait and see, won't'cha?"

"Naw. I'm pretty sure right now. How about you?" Chris asked him.

"Yeah," Vin said, softly, eyes dropping to the hands clasped around his waist and covering both of Chris' with one of his own. He could hold onto this. Just a little longer, let it stay, wait for the next one. "Sure as I've ever been."

It was Vin who finally broke the moment, shifting forward, offering a hand to Chris to get up, to move out of the moment and into the future.

~fin~

12/03/2002

**Author's Note:**

> For Cee
> 
> Category: ATF: PWP, First -time  
> Rating: NC17  
> Pairing/Characters: Chris/Vin
> 
> Disclaimers: One of those PWP's that really isn't. Not mine and never were. Many, many thanks to J for her ability to spit and polish and to Cee, who wanted this way back when and supplied many nummy ideas.


End file.
